The Definition Of Honour
by tutb88
Summary: A quest to reclaim his memories, his name and his life will lead to the unavoidable choice: whether Erik will decide to be acknowledged as his old self or start over. (Powered AU loosely based on "The Sun Smasher" by E. Hamilton)
1. The Fallen Star

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Twilight fell, unlike hundreds he has seen, with clear greenish sky and no sign of acid mist. From the top of the hill, Erik could see a pack of large grey-skinned animals in the distance. Once, he had had a chance encounter with the beasts and since then he avoided any interactions if he could help it: the memory of wild enraged roars and sharp flare of pain was still gruesomely fresh.

A windswept plain before his tired eyes was dark red, dusty and hopelessly bare, with the exception of minor hills, randomly scattered like tree stumps. Also, a sharp line of Misty Chine, cutting into horizon. Of course, there were no trees here, but Erik remembered them from another life. There were trees, harmless animals, and other little pleasant trifles: like oxygen and pure water.

Chasing away idle thoughts, he warily looked around, tapped his visor, which lately refused to adapt to changing light conditions automatically.

Deep, narrow ravine, meandering across the large plain, emitted faint yellowish light in some places. He suspected that radiation was the cause and refrained from wandering nearby. It was high time for weird plants with sleazy meaty stems to start glowing. Having already learned, that blasted things that looked like a hybrid of liana and viper, and preferred dwelling in deep cracks in the ground, would like nothing more, but to twist around your limbs with every intention to tear you into pieces and, very probably, happily digest you later, Erik always watched his feet.

Sky — he's forgotten a sight of it, as it was almost constantly covered by heavy grey clouds and dark dust. Daylight, stingily provided by one and only celestial body, was scarce.

As it goes, the star itself is currently dying.

He didn't know where that awareness came from, but he was absolutely sure that he knew it, as well as he was aware of his name. There was no need to worry, though, for human life-span was so much shorter than that of a star, that the issue seemed downright ridiculous.

After checking a transmitter, Erik needed to go back before temperature drops to the point that it'll become unbearable. His flimsy gear will undoubtedly fail to protect him from frostbite. Moreover, soon more predators will crawl out, limited, but nevertheless extremely dangerous, for they had a couple of billion-year's advantage when it came to natural adaptation.

Yet, as always, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the skies, imbued with bitter impotent rage and crashing despair. How strongly Erik wanted to reach out and grasp that canvas of darkening sky and rip it to shreds, with twinkling stars and all, for taunting him so meaninglessly and so cruelly.

Air, coming through a respiratory filter, was chilly, bearing slight metallic taste, signifying an untimely death of another filter. Erik was not invincible to abundance of sulfur in the atmosphere, like he made some individuals believe. He still can't explain why his lungs withstood so long without any respiratory filter. When they played the same joke on one of their own, tore off the mask and pushed the bastard down the same hill, he died wailing and screaming for help, his voice getting raspier and raspier, before succumbing to inevitable.

Their little band of survivors was getting restless and that meant that yes, death was the only entertainment left. A way to get rid of brewing tension.

Letting an image of the starry sky form a detailed, perfect picture in his head, for many days to come, he turned on his heels, mindful of avoiding multiple cracks in rock.

Something flashed, fast and bright, right at the edge of his peripheral vision, and Erik instantly followed the sight. A flicker of false hope, he felt there for a moment, dissolved, when he realized that a fallen star, because what else could it be, disappeared beyond horizon. Earlier, he kept telling himself, that a patrol ship must definitely appear in this sector sooner or later, or some random vessel has to respond to their emergency signal. Though, no one ever came. Smugglers, the core of their merry survival camp, told him, that due to crazy jamming and radioactive anomaly, all equipment they used to send the transmission, turned into mere useless trash. Time and again, he argued listlessly, more out of habit than any strong conviction, that the transmission must go on regardless.

By the time Erik approached the caves, he was half-numb from cold.

Erik nodded to the man, guarding the door from the outside, and pushed heavy metal handle to the side. Then, another one and one more. After that, he took off his helmet and breathed in thick, smelly air, practically screaming of anti-sanitary and being buried alive. Not literally. For now.

In spite of suffocating atmosphere, the caves were truly enormous and complex. And, thankfully, completely lifeless. Their central hall, where red rock formed a high, arched vault, almost majestic in its rough grace, was divided into sections. Every piece of loot from two ships was used in remodeling the caves and making them habitable. If not for refugees laden with plenty rescued goods and chattels, they wouldn't have lasted for so long.

Conscious of eyes watching him, burning a through-cutout in his back, Erik quietly slid into a narrow passage on his left. A route to his solitary cell was painfully familiar: he could walk down narrow, winding path with his eyes closed.

A small bundle in front of the rag, which proudly served as a door to his chambers, has shifted as soon as he came closer. Ah, this brat again.

Not missing a beat, Erik peered into pale eyes of a scrawny kid, with dark mop of horrid, shaggy hair. The brat trembled and lowered his dull gaze down at last, breathing heavily through his nose. Apparently, he was a little gaga, however, who could blame him or… her. Erik himself was not sure what gender pronoun should he use in this case, not that he was interested in finding out. Consequently, the brat was left alone after the death of his or her caretaker: an old geezer was one of the surviving refugees. He somehow managed to live apart from the others. Just like Erik. His recent demise was hardly a surprise for anyone. Also, actually Erik was the one to discover the body. Maybe, that's why the brat decided that he was going to stick to him, following some obscure animal instinct. Not that Erik cared, of course. The fact, nevertheless, remained, that he got used to brat sitting here, as though guarding his place.

Well, whatever.

He used recharged solar batteries; Erik brought them to surface every day he had a possibility to do so. A tiny sphere he put in the nest made in stone wall was slowly lightening up. When weak shimmering light came alive, he allowed himself to relax as he sagged onto his carefully leveled bunch of covers, his uncomfortable make-shift bed, and in doing so leaned with his back to stone wall.

Icy, sick feeling settled deep in his bones tonight, gnawing at his exhausted body and spirit from the inside.

He is the one walking out more often than anyone else.

By all means, he has to be ill, in everyone's and his personal opinion: ill from breathing in toxic air, from numerous wounds he received, from poor personal hygiene, from being exposed to elements on this hell of a climate paradise.

Sooner or later he'll succumb to his destiny, unless…

Nights like these were the worst, he grimly thought, laying down and stretching his body, beginning the routine relaxation ritual he came up with. This routine was also something he vaguely remembered from his previous life. Not recalled, not exactly. But more like knew. Like he was taught it and many other things so well, that they kept springing up from deep, dark corners of his mind: sometimes welcome knowledge and half-forgotten skills, and at times visions of his past life, dim memories of things he saw in nightmares, which vaporized upon waking up.

The core principle lay in counting heartbeats.

Usually, he counted to forty two, and then everything proceeded smoothly from there. Finally, his breathing had evened out considerably, and Erik no longer felt rough ground under his back, as his entire body turned weightless, free from confines of mortal shell. It rarely happened that he was able to hold on to this peculiar state of mind for an extended period of time. Thus, he valued it even more. For it was his sole breathing hole in the whole sorry existence.

Time flow slowed down significantly, while his consciousness was suspended elsewhere, yet Erik trained himself to react to any kind of alert instantaneously.

So when Erik felt some insistent tugging, as someone was touching his bare forearm, he promptly sat up, caught an offender in the armlock. All that done before realizing, in weakening light thrown by his light sphere, that the one struggling for dear in life his arms was the brat.

After a brief moment of consideration, Erik decided that he could snap that thin neck at any given point in time, so he pushed the scrawny something away, and jumped to his feet. And because Erik had pushed too hard, the brat's fall ended in a very unfortunate fashion, as his head collided with the opposite wall, and the kid uttered a strangled sob, immediately clutching his shaggy head with dirtied hands. When Erik stepped closer, he saw a single dark rivulet of blood, dribbling down brat's fingers, pressed tightly to his forehead.

And it was only then, that Erik has heard it: hushed echo of dulled footsteps, approaching his cell.

After his nightly sessions he felt revitalized and full of energy. Now, it will save his life. Erik quickly put on his outdoor jacket, snatched his bag, hidden under covers. He called it a survival kit and mentally congratulated himself on such insightful vigilance and strategic thinking. Before putting on his helmet, it dawned on him that the brat was still there; evidently the kid couldn't or didn't want to risk sliding past him and that figure was right now crouched in the corner, shrank into himself and shaking like some badly beaten pet.

"Get out of here," hastily ordered Erik, keeping his voice subdued.

Brat's shoulders hitched up slightly, but no other reaction followed.

"Do as you please, idiot," shrugged Erik and turned his back on the kid completely.

Probably, that little pest was really the idiot. He couldn't remember hearing him utter any words whatsoever, and now, when he is thinking about it, that general puzzle lines up, more or less. The brat would be better off dead, along with that old man — upon reaching this realistic conclusion he carefully stepped out of his cell.

Little did they know that Erik has discovered a hidden passage long ago, when he, guided by some unspeakable feeling, had an inclination to explore the depths of their shelter. While the main entrance is, by no means, guarded, he will use his secret passage in order to lie low. That was an initial plan. It seemed foolproof, so Erik diligently and dutifully concentrated on making as little noise as humanly possible, hunkering down in shaded niches, when the corridor became larger, and one or two hunched, hooded figures strode along.

Refugees.

Erik cringed in distaste, as one more man practically ran past him.

They always reeked of special brand of fear, and though mortality rate, strangely enough, made no actual distinction between two groups of people, smugglers, at least, could still laugh good old lady death in the face. These rats, though, would not stop to spare you a glance if you were to lie dying across their path. They would just hurry up, frantically looking around and murmuring their odd prayers in language he couldn't comprehend. The terrible phonation never failed to put his teeth on edge.

May their gods devour their trashy souls on the other side — always mused Erik with grim humor.

Deeming it relatively safe, Erik sprinted on down the narrow corridor, dodging protruding dripstones, hanging above his head aka pointy swords. Providing they lose interest in him and choose another victim, he'll have to wait in hiding nonetheless.

A pity, he didn't have time to change or clean his respiratory filter.

With this in mind he nicked in a narrow outshoot and got ready to cross final meters left to a hidden alcove.

Before Erik had any time to react, something collided with a side of his head so hard, that he could swear he heard his helmet crack under the force of blow. His vision went swimming and, as his body hit stony floor, all air left him in a rush. Instinctively, he rolled over. Through thick pounding in his ears, he's caught an angry growl and a sound of something steely colliding with stone. Right where his head was a second ago.

There was a salty taste of blood on his tongue now, and he gulped an entire mouthful down, forcing himself to stand up.

In a circle of steady light, provided by one of larger spheres, stood the one who called himself Crain. A notorious half-blood. And his Versian tougher than average, goggle-eyed half did him no justice at all.

"He thinks he is clever," gleefully proclaimed Crain to men who surrounded Erik in circle.

No one answered him, and, this time, goosebumps raced down Erik's body for real.

"You are a fool," said Erik with as much potent conviction as possible. "None of you half-wits knows how to work with our interplanetary transmitter. Also, a year or two and our stationary air filter in here will break down without replacement parts. Who is going to repair it, then?"

"In a year or two," here Crain cracked a grin, displaying some neat row of numerous pointy teeth. "I'll be enjoying life on a pretty Union resort. And your bones, Erik, will be picked bare by whatever these grey things are called. Here. You'll stay here forever."

Erik was thinking quickly.

It irked him that he didn't know what they've got to be so stuck-up about.

"Nonsense," he stubbornly grunted and looked around.

But, strangely, there was no trace of doubt on faces surrounding him.

Indeed, some of them were full of unhindered maniacal glee, some timidly hopeful.

"I saw a ship," threw a thin, blond man, whose name Erik didn't recall, because he didn't care enough to memorize it in the first place.

"Shut up!" exploded Crain.

Stomping to his left, he punched the one, who dared open his mouth without his command, in the gut.

So, that's it.

Still, Erik, always cautious to great extent, didn't share general sentiment. They are total morons, he summarized, if they are ready to get rid of someone with a knack for managing equipment and machinery and thus condemn themselves to slow and painful death.

Next bizarre attack came from nowhere.

Here, Erik was standing, circled by blood-hungry rogues. And then, he was knocked down to his knees by some invisible force, that left his ears ringing again.

Someone tugged at his arm, and through squinted eyes and cracked visor, he discerned only a vague outline of a person. The brat? Well, that's certainly a surprise. With some minor assistance Erik dragged himself to his knees and then to his feet. Leaving cursing and grunting in pain assailants behind, evidently unable to raise from the ground, he absently wondered why he got off so lightly. After he realized that he and the brat have been running in the direction of main entrance, he sped up, shoving all questions further, for future deliberation. Erik even started dragging the brat after himself by the arm, seeing as shorter kid couldn't cope with his pace. They absolutely needed to get two respiratory filters before even thinking of venturing out in the open. Unfortunately, Erik's bag was left abandoned on the very spot he received a first blow.

It was extremely weird that on the way to main entrance they encountered no living soul, as though everyone promptly disappeared out of their way, purposefully clearing an escape path.

No one was guarding the doors as well.

Erik fumbled with a lock of nearby vault, which should have stocked much needed respiratory filters. Oh, how he missed any kind of weapon in such situations. The blasted lock gave in with screeching protest, and Erik instantly tore a lid off, digging in.

"Take this," he threw one respirator to the heavily panting brat and took three more.

They'll need them. Unfortunately, it only covered lower part of face, but beggars can't be choosers.

He took one more regretful look at his helmet. The cracks were running along the surface as thin as spider webs, but no less ruinous for that matter.

The doors opened, when he was contemplating sheer probability of this crazy escapade. Erik darted a look at the entrance, and there, despite all vain hopes and not so secret mighty pull of despair, there stood an intruder.

Their spacesuit was pitch black, dull to extent that it seemed to absorb visible light. And that design was certainly unfamiliar: thin diagonal plates were firmly adjoined, almost merged into one another. Even a helmet appeared to be the inseparable part of gear, with no visible seams in sight.

Taking a measured step back to the wall, Erik prepared to flee, subtly evaluating his chances in case the alien decides to attack.

Odds were not in his favor.

The brat was the one who confused him, because he neither flinched nor tried to scramble away.

Gaping at the intruder, with mouth partly open, the kid otherwise demonstrated no obvious signs of healthy caution.

Idiot, that settles it.

Meanwhile, the intruder made a first move. He carefully and slowly lifted his empty hands up in the universal gesture and, hitherto, evinced no intention in harming anyone. Moreover, he made a curious abortive motion with one hand, pressing just where the chin supposed to be. As a result, those multiple plates smoothly furled up and up, following the motion of his hand. It has emerged, that the person was rather young. Spheres did good job highlighting his pale face, a touch soft-angled, with blue eyes and firmly pressed, unexpectedly bright lips.

Those eyes bore into his, so deep and pressing, and the man asked something, slightly raising his voice — words fell crisply yet smoothly, like molten spats of silver alloy.

"I don't understand you," got out Erik, as foreign feelings encased him.

Sudden headache stabbed him with finest steel, right behind his eyes; he feared his eyeballs would burst out from unforgiving pain.

"Is this better?" asked the stranger again, wearing a deepening frown.

Erik, for all intents and purposes, couldn't fathom why mere presence of this person threw him into an extremely disquieting state.

"Since when you don't understand the prime language of the Union?" came a question.

Incredible as it may seem, Erik was almost wryly fascinated by curious sight, as that expressive face shifted, minutely, and he though he noticed something closely resembling anger and sorrow flashing in blue eyes.

That man in front of him grew even whiter, than it was humanly possible and looked like ground has just been cut from under his feet.

"Unbelievable," he breathed out and briefly lowered his eyes, quite evidently crestfallen. "So, that's why I couldn't contact you. And you feel like a different person and at the same time I know it's you."

"Say what?"

"Please, relax, and try to calm your mind," Erik has heard.

Then, there was nothing, except for strange white noise, reverberating inside his skull.

Mad vertigo and static.

"Just breathe, slowly. That was a simple verification, very necessary for me."

Erik was lying on his back on the ground and the nameless man, who has just done something terrible, was crouching next to his prone body.

A telepath.

"My name is Charles, and although you don't remember me, together, we've come a fairly long way," went on the telepath. "And, believe me, I'm terribly sorry for this. Your mind is a mess. But, don't worry. I suppose, it can be reversed given enough time and skill," he was absently biting his lower lip and Erik let his eyes focus on that. He dared not look into the telepath's eyes anymore.

"What do you want?" managed a hoarse whisper Erik and had to bite back a groan.

"Oh, you're definitely you," lips slowly stretched into a barely visible sad smile. "It's something only you can do. I want you to bring an end to war."

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Dark hulk of alien ship was hovering nearby, and Erik really ached to take a closer look. But, unfortunately, he himself insisted on leaving the shelter of caves as quickly as possible.

The telepath was carrying the brat, who was clinging to him, as a frightened child should very well do.

Reluctantly, Erik followed closely behind, assisted by the telepath, because his visor was hardly useful anymore. The exposure to biting cold was brief; however, when the man finally led them inside, Erik had fully appreciated the contrast.

Inside this ship, air smelled of metal. Although very faintly. Also, there was something unexpectedly fresh and pleasant.

Talk about advanced technology.

Erik refused to gape, but, nevertheless, the insides of this ship looked nothing like something he's ever encountered. Another surprise — light dimmed without any verbal command from the telepath and Erik didn't notice him touching anything either.

"Welcome on board," the man did that thing with his spacesuit again and plates slid all the way down to his neck, revealing a mop of dark, wavy hair reaching below his ears.

"How may I address you?" he softly asked and Erik realized, with not a small amount of confusion, that an inane question was directed to him.

"Erik," he looked up to see that the telepath was openly staring at him.

"Fine, Erik. You should call me Charles, then. Referring to someone as 'telepath' negates the fact of having been offered a name. Don't you agree?"

"Do I have a choice?" taken aback, Erik still decided to stand his ground.

"You always do," the telepath. No, Charles, — immediately corrected himself Erik, — has lowered down the brat and lightly pushed him in Erik's direction. "Come on, Sean. Stay with Erik for now. I'll have to leave you, but not for long."

"Where are you going?"

"It is evident that this ship isn't big enough to room all those people. I can do at least something and leave them necessary supplies and medicine and then notify the Union so that they can send a proper rescue team. After all, I came here, looking exclusively for you."

"Why? Why don't you stop feeding me this—"

"Because I don't want to hurt you, therefore I can't tell you everything at once," he sighed, like he was especially tired of having to reassure him. "This fragile balance that somehow keeps your psyche intact, in spite of all meddling, can easily be destroyed if not approached with care. And don't even get me started on your memories. Any telepath after taking a glimpse would confirm: it looks as if you've led a completely different life, like you're a different man, so profound is their imprint."

"I can feel you," suddenly said Erik. The confession made his headache dissipate a little. "I can feel you, but I don't know you."

Charles sucked in a sharp breath.

That perplexed Erik a lot.

All about this man was overly disconcerting, for his words and his behavior indicated so much, and yet not enough for Erik to figure out his riddle alone.

"You probably want to rest and change," skipped the dangerous topic Charles. "Follow me, I'll show you to your cabins."

To add to the complexity of Charles, Erik soon discovered that the man was rather talkative. Maybe, he was tired of being constantly alone, seeing as he was single-handedly piloting the ship for an extended period of time or, maybe, he just liked to smooth-talk and chatter with any available thing with ears in vicinity.

"I hope you'll find it comfortable. Initially, these cabins were not designed to serve as living quarters. However, I have a friend, quite a brilliant mind, who expressed a very tempting and sound idea to redesign the inside. To fill vacant spaces. He's done it in record time, which I find simply impressive. Here is your cabin, Erik," the doors slid open before him without any command and Erik suspected inbuilt sensors, but that didn't explain the rest.

"It is not that big, of course," Charles swiftly stepped to the side, allowing Erik to enter first.

Despite inner turmoil, Erik couldn't help smirking at apologetic coloring to his voice, because, definitely, one would think that Charles must understand that after sleeping on the bunch of rags on stone floor, anything closely resembling a bed will make him grateful by force of sheer contrast. The room offered to him had a real, and, by his standards, rather large bed, a desk and a comfy chair. All made of light, silvery metal.

Also, Charles demonstrated a sliding door to a bathroom suit and told him that a stocked wardrobe in the opposite wall can be opened in the same fashion.

"Why is it different?" didn't contain his bewilderment Erik. "When opening the hatch, you used neither verbal nor manual guidance."

The brat, who was so suddenly given a name, also looked interested, timidly probing framework with startlingly dirty hands. Erik has half-forgotten about his existence at all; he had more essential things on his mind. Now, while looking the puny creature up and down, he realized, that in such pristine environment, he must also look disgusting.

In all likelihood, worse than the brat.

"As I have mentioned before, these quarters are only recent addition to the original construction. This entire ship, to put it simply, is listening to me." Charles had the decency to shrug and lift two fingers to his temple for their sake.

"I mean, the core drive is invoked and controlled telepathically: that's so fascinating. I'll show you later. By the way, Erik," he shot him a shrewd look, blue eyes alight with exasperation.

And Erik immediately scowled, caught red-handed.

"Now you know that without me this ship won't move an inch."

"Yes, that is clear," and preachy — added Erik mentally.

"Sean," Charles turned to the brat and smiled. "Your cabin is next to Erik's. Now, I'm afraid, I have to go and deal with your friends down there."

"If you don't come back, can we still stay here?"

"Where have you acquired such wonderful sense of wit?" parried his question Charles and then huffed, adding mysteriously. "In the grand scheme of things something never changes."

Then, he left, leaving Erik to tend to the brat: mainly tending meant ushering the kid out of Erik's cabin and straight into shower in the room that now belonged to him. Having seen to bathing, which revealed that the brat was not only paler than snow but also red-headed, Erik left him and hastened into his own shower himself.

A small in-built cabinet in his bathroom contained all things he needed in order to feel himself a thoroughly clean human being. Again.

Naturally, he hasn't seen his reflection in any sort of mirror for a while.

Who was that man with hollow cheeks on gaunt face and grey, guarded eyes. In case, Charles is correct, his whole life has been a lie. Darn it, even his name is a lie: he knew that he detected a slight pause every time the telepath referred to him by his name.

Erik found a packaged set of plain, slate grey uniform, consisting of underwear, undershirt, a jacket, trousers, socks and boots stashed in the wardrobe. He thought he recognized standard issue clothing, which the Union military and civilian crew members wore underneath spacesuits. A lot of time has passed since he saw it.

And Charles' spacesuit fell out of the picture nonetheless. What kind of technology was it, really… That was something that interested him, bits and pieces of new, remarkable developments his wandering eye has caught. His insolent thoughts fluttered desperately. Like little rebellious midgets: from image to image, from word to feeling, from fear to hope.

Erik could not comprehend it.

Must be some sick joke or what if during his nocturnal wandering he has gotten too far and, in fact, he is now in his cell, deep in the caves, on the planet that is going to become his grave.

Charles interrupted his thoughts by stepping through opening doors and worriedly glancing at him.

"Are you well, Erik? You didn't reply when I called the intercom."

He was wearing the same uniform like Erik and only now, while standing, Erik realized that it turned out he was taller than Charles. For some reason, he thought otherwise.

"Oh, no," gasped he then and rushed to Erik.

Charles' hands clasped his face and he peered intensely into Erik's eyes, while his nimble fingers danced a weird wild dance, pressing on pressure points and slightly tilting his head backwards.

Tingling warmth radiated from Charles' touch and it spread, sinking into his skin.

"Take deep breaths," ordered him Charles, continuing his manipulations. Erik wanted to snap, was a second away from opening his mouth, but at the very last moment changed his mind.

"Only you can go into shock and remain standing," tried to joke Charles, deeming him alright and slowly taking a step back. "I would have noticed the approaching reaction sooner, but I can only hear your loudest surface thoughts. Any deeper reading or attempt at it causes you pain. Well, you've experienced it yourself," he muttered ruefully.

"Hey, what, what have you just done, then? It felt like," Erik paused to find appropriate words, "like some warm energy."

"This is a new trick," Charles tilted his head to the side. "Actually, I was wondering if you want to be present on deck. To say goodbye to this planet, so to say."

"You bet," Erik walked past him to the doors, refusing to show any sign of dizziness lurking right at the edge of his perception.

Charles stifled a laugh; his raised eyebrows emphasized, if anything, that he was not buying it.

Of course, Erik had to let him lead the way.

"You didn't answer my question," he stubbornly reminded.

"Hmm, I didn't think you were really interested," Charles circled him and Erik decided to fall back, suddenly sensing the other's discomfort when their shoulders accidentally brushed together.

"I am interested."

"In the specifics of my ability?"

"Yes. Is it classified or something?"

"No, it's just weird."

"So?"

"So, everything started when I discovered this ship."

The sleek metal doors slid to the side to reveal some wide circular deck with high ceiling. A pilot's seat, or what the heck was that, was in the center of slightly elevated platform. It was a curious construction, inclined at an angle of thirty degrees. The shape would be elliptical, if not for bumps and dips marring its' surface. Those bums and dips, as he has just understood, were in motion, constantly changing and shifting into different forms, as if not sure what it wanted to be. Metal itself was tinted blue. It pulsed beneath his fingers, alive, probably possessing some form of intelligence. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Fantastic, isn't it," Charles was standing next to him, also touching that alive metal. Although, under his touch it brightened up, the blue becoming more pronounced. "Yet, some people think that it's creepy. Can you believe that?"

Above them, a covering screen was sliding to the sides and Erik looked up, a little startled by the sight of familiar grey sky. It was daytime already. He's lost his sense of time. Standing here, on board of such strange vessel, has drastically changed everything. He watched the sky under which he'd spent so much time despairing about never leaving this place, and couldn't find any leftovers of anger it earlier invoked. Nothing.

"This drive needs my psychic energy. Think of it as a fuel of sorts. Lately, I've become quite adapt at manipulating it outside of pilot's seat. Practice makes perfect, you may say. I've just given you some energy of my own to boost yours. It works with small aches, nothing serious though. This is the least I can do without proper access to your mind."

"It worked just alright. Come to think of it, thank you."

Looking him full in the face with lively interest Charles nodded.

"And," unsure how to go on Erik warily glanced at Charles, for the first time hoping that the other just picks up his unvoiced question.

When needed, the telepath played dense.

"How strong are you exactly?" blurted Erik at last, faintly disturbed by Charles' dubious expression.

Sure enough, telepaths are not a curious novelty these days. Erik dimly remembers meeting one or two, before he signed up for that blasted ship. Some echoes of residual knowledge, however, whispers of a horrendous ancient war against some telepathic alien race in the past. Even not understanding everything to full extent, the way Charles describes it, as though this is something not worth mentioning, it makes him wonder…

"I'm only getting there," Charles firmly shook his head.

Erik could tell that Charles was not seeing him right now: instead, his forlorn gaze was trained on some spot above Erik's right shoulder. Erik knew that if he turned around, there would be nothing there.

"But," he interjected. "Isn't it awfully draining? You said yourself that this ship uses your energy. What if you've got nothing left?"

"I'll die before that happens," said Charles. "The question is reasonable, but the situation is highly unlikely. It works like this: the more you give out, the larger a container becomes and it goes on and on."

"It doesn't sound safe. What? You're my ticket out of here."

"It's always nice to hear," mumbled Charles, as he sat and leaned back into metal embrace.

Blue sheen created a faint halo around molding shapes, which stabilized bit by bit and now resembled an ordinary pilot seat one may find on every decent human ship manufactured by the Union. The one with high back and even handholds. So, Charles turned it into something he was used to, guessed Erik, watching as thin strips of metal rose to encase Charles' temples, forehead, cover his eyes, and then met in the middle, where all movement stopped completely. And no consoles, thought Erik with awe mixed with regret.

Right now he envied Charles, because the glimpse of smile he saw on visible half of his face was peaceful and at the same time full of barely contained anticipation one gets while wielding immense power. Which was exactly what this ship was.

Has he expected the take-off to be gradual, with necessary precautions and then breaking through exosphere? Well, yes. But what he experienced was more like a leap, as they soared in an instant.

Certainly, that was not some fallen star he saw the previous night. It was the ship faster than anything he could imagine.

"Give me some time to lay the course and I'll join you."

"Can I stay here?"

"Suit yourself, but you might get seriously bored. I need to concentrate, hence I can't converse with you telepathically for the avoidance of certain side-effects."

"Don't be ridiculous, I can't get bored left alone with my thoughts."

"It figures."

Charles fell silent.

Erik sat down, cross-legged, and allowed his head to fall back, eyes taking in rich blackness, occasional fuzzy bits, and general great picture of majestic silence outside observation screen.

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They were sitting on green, soft grass and light breeze was playing with Charles' auburn hair, as he was, once more, carried away by some troubling thoughts. Golden sun was shining brightly and Erik returned his gaze to Charles, for the lack of any other objects for staring. Charles looked really bright too. Generous sunshine accentuated natural colors he had been bestowed by nature, but nevertheless was bad at profiting from.

This is not my thought — Erik toyed with a passing, fickle idea.

Why is this not my thought?

Because I don't know him well enough to come to such conclusion and in case I knew him, I wouldn't have bothered with something like that, it's unbecoming. Right?

Charles snapped out of his reverie.

_You're absolutely right. This is my thought._

"You did it," confirmed Erik aloud.

_This is good for now. I've conjured the beginning of that long process which will finally result in you reclaiming your memories._

"Not abruptly, I hope."

_No, piece by piece. In your dreams, through associations and from familiar stimuli. Your mind will heal and restructure itself, but it will take some time. I'll guide you._

"Is there something you aren't telling tell me?"

"You are free to ask and find out," levelly said Charles.

"Why didn't you come sooner?" it was seriously bothering Erik, who had recently found out that last seven years of his life were one huge lie.

"I was recuperating, both physically and mentally."

"Why you?" it was a wild stab. "We're obviously not blood-related; you treat me neither with superfluous consideration nor extra forbearingly. Equally?"

"We used to… No. I always thought that you were my best friend, my only friend really. I also used to believe that I know how to get things right, that my friendship was enough to make you turn back from the road you were going to take."

Within a week, Erik has already learned that at times a thoughtful pause was worth a thousand words. For Charles. Because he, for instance, could't read minds and communicate in meaningful general phrases.

"Now, when I can finally help you with control issues, let's get you your powers back," Charles' perpetually soft voice cut through thick awkwardness.

"You didn't mention any powers before," his heart was beating alarmingly hard and fast: Erik could feel it in his throat.

"I just did," innocently smiled Charles and clapped his hands two times — a condition to turn off their visual dimensional projection.

The grass and blue sky vanished and Erik found himself sitting on cushioned floor in a cabin, which Charles charitably called a leisure room.

"Individuals of different races all over the universe develop special abilities, like mine, for example, while evolving. Some curse them and yet others regard them as blessings. They are more common now than they used to be before the Great Space Expansion due to many reasons. Mainly, excessive radiation, I reckon, and though the creation of artificial mutations is prosecuted by the Union, it still flourishes underground," he encouraged Erik to stretch out his hand, as Charles rolled up his sleeve and unclasped a thick chain bracelet. He let it fall into Erik's palm, continuing his explanation. "This is the second strongest alloy known to mankind, tamis, and almost all spaceships are manufactured with its' help. Excluding this one, of course, and several dozen others I'm aware of. And you, Erik, you have an amazing ability to manipulate electromagnetic fields. To put is simply, you can control metal."

"Are you sure?" he backtracked, stifling impending panic. There is no way he can do it, he never could.

Moreover, it's so bloody embarrassing to fail right in front of Charles.

"Positive. My job is done and the block is gone. It's your turn, Erik. Your potential is extraordinary, and you're one of the most skillful individuals when it comes to wielding your powers," Charles gently covered Erik's hand with his own.

Customarily, he avoided touching Erik unless necessary. Hence, every single time Charles has willingly breached his personal bubble, mere skin on skin contact felt hazardous, like diving into abyss blindfolded.

"What do I have to do?"

"First, clear your mind, sense it properly, and then remold it into something else."

"So far, this is the worst instruction I've ever heard."

The bracelet has absorbed Charles' body heat, was very light, almost massless, and that was all he sensed about it.

"There's no need to be defensive. Keep trying. I know what you are capable of."

"You know nothing," gritted out Erik, grabbing Charles' hand when he tried to take it back. "You only want to fix me, so that you could use me."

"I will never do such a thing. Even to you."

As he punctuated every word, his blue eyes turned ablaze with inner fire, scorching out Erik's soul like it was no big deal. Unable to cast his eyes to the side, Erik watched as Charles' mobile mouth twitched into a grim line, high spots of color appeared on his cheeks. The swell of raw energy filled the space between them, for Charles' presence rose grandly, up to the point that Erik started violently cursing his stupid ignorance.

A great shiver ran through Erik, and something loud and strong snapped in him.

Suddenly, Charles produced a tiny, pained sound, which succeeded in breaking the lingering near standoff.

Upon lowering his eyes, Erik saw a reason — several long, thin metal spikes poking through Charles' hand all way through. Bright red blood was already welling up, marking pierced flesh. His own palm was slightly scraped: only now he was able to comprehend it, not blinded by his own outburst anymore.

"Don't move," he quickly said, though he was shaking on the inside. "I'll undo it."

Charles briefly nodded, bit on his lip, when Erik tried to command that metal to withdraw back into original shape. As expected, it was easier said than done. But he did it somehow, urged by not ceasing fear and his companion's growing pallor.

At last, Charles gingerly retrieved his injured hand from Erik's slacked grip.

Some blood pooled in the scoop of Erik's palm, where now laid an ugly lump of metal, marred in red.

"Charles, I didn't mean to," carefully and slowly, Erik dropped his hand, clutching a mangled piece, like simple clay, in his fingers.

"I know, Erik, I know," Charles swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, betraying his unease. "This is partly my own fault. At least, it's not fatal," he joked shakily.

This is hardly funny at all, thought Erik darkly, when they left the leisure room and headed to Charles' quarters. Because this could be fatal: he could really kill this mighty telepath, if caught unaware, in a blink of an eye.

Fervid heat inside him didn't subside until Charles called him.

_Erik, will you be so kind and assist me here?_

Strangely content with voice in his head, Erik dashed into the bathroom suit, where Charles was patiently waiting for him, washing off seeping blood in the sink, as he gestured to the cabinet with his chin.

"It got stuck," he explained.

Whether it was a dumb white lie to get him to do something or not, Erik couldn't care less at the moment.

The rest of that memorable day they have spent separately. Charles was teaching Sean to read and write. Erik has purposefully immersed himself into relearning languages Charles assured him, he already knew perfectly. He fell asleep at his desk, not turning off holograms, and thus woke up to cheerful flashing of screens all around him, some playing video, some displaying rows of texts and bright images.

I know my real name, he realized with a shudder.

This is important, isn't it?

He left his cabin in a rush, his brain absolutely turned, and headed straight to the deck, where Charles usually could be found when everyone else was asleep.

The doors slid before him obediently and he stepped in.

Charles met him half-way. He was evidently perplexed as he looked Erik up and down.

"Your anxiety is a force to be reckoned with, Erik," and then he caught up, sobering immediately. "Ah, so you finally remember. Max."

"I do."

He nodded and Charles' façade crumbled; he even projected tired weariness he didn't bother to conceal anymore.

"That doesn't matter though."

"What do you mean? Of course, it does."

"No," he shrugged.

The sight of Charles alone suddenly helped to settle down his nerves. He thought he knew what he was going to say next, so he tried to explain.

"It doesn't matter, because you should still call me Erik."

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	2. The Breakthrough

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A month has passed since Erik has met Charles, and, apparently, it happened for the second first time.

Since Charles had broken a wall, keeping his real memories in, Erik has started having wrenching dreams about a place with high ceilings and grand huge windows, and creamy stone floor polished from use. The place, where majestic opulence dwelled alongside demureness, and subtle, odd traces of destitution. So it often happened lately that he would find himself strolling down a disturbingly familiar, wide hallway.

Golden sunlight was always streaming through arched windows, red drapes were swaying lightly. Some rare motes within sunbeams playfully swirled up and down like flower dust. When he crossed a scope of light, he felt a warm breath of sun on the right side of his face, and when he stepped into a shadowed patch, he was fleetingly encased in refreshing coolness. All noises were marginally muted, hardly reaching his ears. And even strange unobtrusive music could not overlap the sound of his marching footsteps, rather loud.

Depending on day, he would either get up with another fresh recollection from his second personality's childhood years gently settled into his mind, or wake up devastated and hollow, sometimes feeling totally nauseated, with blinding headache at top of that. The headache, which was threatening to split his skull into multiple tiny bits from the inside. That was his resistance coming into play — it was consistent with what Charles told him before. Well, he also told Erik not to fight it, though what can Charles really know about something like that, except from meager second-hand experience?

But main thing Charles didn't seem to get was the following — despite every single day full of misery: whether he was working without rest on a lower deck of that blasted refugees' ship or imprisoned on distant planet, cut off from the rest of civilized world, he was still himself. He was content his name was Erik Lehnsherr: he remembered the day his parents died in crossfire, when their settlement was attacked, he remembered the first time he stepped on board of cargo ship, how fascinated he was — this was his first trip to the stars, he remembered the first time he piloted a spacecraft, he didn't have any appropriate academic training, but his grasp of all complex things was extraordinary fast. Hell, he even remembered meeting a woman and falling in love. There is good and bad intertwined in the tangle of his life, and, nevertheless, he values these memories.

Impossible, he can't just step aside and let a couple of vague childhood memories of certain Max Eisenhardt overwrite his entire existence as if it is nothing. Thanks for power, you can keep the rest though.

Having a lot of spare time on his hands and pondering over his life, Erik came to solemn conclusion that he always used to experience these moments. I happened when knowledge just came to him, as though from nowhere. Therefore, he used to accept it for granted, for, he had all reasons to believe, he was just naturally gifted and intelligent. How wrong he was, it appears. That issue of his involuntary dependence on someone else, namely the man he refused to acknowledge, was eating up his confidence. And yet, yet he couldn't help clinging to pieces that put together Erik Lehnsherr.

Seemed like, time spent on that planet got to him eventually.

After all, he pushed the brat. He hurt Charles. They were only trying to help him. And though he was forgiven by both, it was not enough. He never did something like that before; he never lashed out against unsuspecting at the very prospect of danger. Erik didn't like it. Of course, he could fight, he could hold his own and he fought well when it came to it, but not like that. And, finally, due to safety and all-encompassing calm of this ship, the healing was on the rise, he could tell for sure, as hardened crust covering his essence, his soul, formed during extended isolation, various hardships, and imminent threat of death, started to crumble. At last.

Now he needed to explain all that to his host, to make him understand too.

When the doors to the deck didn't slide to the side as soon as he approached it, Erik immediately suspected something wrong. Keeping his cool, he decided that, at first, he should make an attempt to look for Charles elsewhere, before wrenching down part of his property with metallokinesis.

_Erik? Hold on a moment._

A touch agitated, he frowned, but acted like requested. What else could he do?

Door finally slid open, and he ventured in, except his feet didn't quite listen to him, as his body lost its weight. And, oh lord, all shields covering up the dome were lowered and pure white light of the nearest star was shining right in. Dark silhouette grabbed his hand, and slowly maneuvered unresisting Erik closer, more adapt to zero gravity than it was fair.

"I apologize for making you wait."

Silently brushing off obligatory polite excuse, Erik blinked several times to adjust his eyes, and when he did, he regarded Charles with surprise mixed with honest disbelief: the other was wearing only his trousers, rolled up to his knees and even his feet were bare.

"And I also apologize for looking like this," a hint of demureness coloring his words, badly masked by casual attempt at humor, genuinely amused Erik.

They were gravitating closer to each other, floating over the center of platform now, bathed in white light, and Erik didn't reply, too busy reveling in wonderful unaccustomed feeling: as though Charles and he were the only living beings in the entire universe.

"The gravity will adjust itself gradually, we have to wait a little," hummed Charles distractedly, his expression was the very picture of quiet, subdued joy. "I decided that you might enjoy it too, while I am at it."

"What are you doing here?"

"Photosynthesizing," he lightly tugged at their clasped hands and they drifted up.

Meanwhile, Erik was pushed into a state of languid repose, indolently taking in a halo formed around Charles' head, silent sway of their bodies in the air. Only, what has he just heard?

"I was not joking, Erik. You must have heard of adaptations many space travelers rely on."

"Why would you want to mess with your genes like that?"

"These days, practicality often wins over old superstitions. In my case, it's hereditary, but I will not say that I find it obtrusive. On the contrary, when it comes to it, it's fairly useful."

"My immunity and endurance. That's why I recover so fast," Erik glanced at Charles, waiting for confirmation.

"If you want to know for sure, I can analyze your DNA for you. But, I suspect, you are right. In the past, your ancestors used to participate in wars, thus indemnifying themselves like that sounds plausible."

Ah, he recalled something. There have always been stupidly exaggerated rumors circulating around. Now, it made sense. But a fact remained: only obscenely rich could afford it.

Gravity claimed them back some time during conversation and Erik even forgot to try and test his powers in order to smoothen the landing. It took no effort to get the undersense of why Charles grew flustered so abruptly. He must have been gone beyond memories of his old friend for a short while, truly enjoying the moment, and now it came back again.

This is another reason to cut it short.

"Charles, first of all, I give this back," he levitated a reformed bracelet from his pocket into Charles' hand, hoping that the gesture conveyed at least some measure of apology.

"Your fine control is impressive," complimented him Charles.

Come to think of it, he, if not in one of his jaded moods, has said more nice things to Erik than any other person during his adulthood. And Erik's counterpart was, most likely, the reason behind Charles' weariness and barely healed shattered spirit.

"Alright," he started. "I've been thinking how to phrase it correctly, because I noticed that sometimes you just refuse to hear what you don't want to hear."

Charles' bewildered, indignant look didn't disturb him as much as underlying resignation at the bottom of his eyes.

"No, don't get me wrong. I simply don't want to have my life taken from me. That's why," he paused, sighed almost discreetly, "I want you to read my mind and see for yourself. Just do it, it will save time."

A moment of brief hesitation, before Charles lifted his fingers to his temple, very nearly made Erik reconsider. Actually, there was nothing to fear. He felt nothing, well, maybe, he was a hint insulted that sorting out all his long, hard musings took Charles barely two seconds altogether.

"Erik, but you know that your memories are a lie," said Charles thickly, lowering his trembling hand. "However, I'll respect your decision, if you insist," he added, slightly pursing his lips.

"This is a lie I have chosen to live. Charles," he put his hands on Charles' shoulders for emphasis, forgetting the state of undress he was in. But Charles didn't protest, so he tightened his grip. "I don't want that past. Do you understand?"

"Erik, there is something else."

"You've mentioned a war I can stop. I remember. I'm currently unemployed anyway and I owe you. I shall help."

With his new-found powers alone, he became a valuable asset. Though some monetary reward would be nice, seeing as all his savings have successfully evaporated.

"No, I do understand," presented with this dilemma, Charles looked earnestly conflicted.

Erik tried not to feel too guilty.

"By something else I meant that despite your choice, you still remain the last of your dynasty. And quite a proverbial one. Erik, it is believed that you are in possession of some secret technology, a great weapon of utmost destruction."

Erik weighted his options.

"You imply that on central planets I'm going to be recognized."

"And feared," Charles supplied, casting his impossible eyes down.

And probably persecuted — read Erik. If it's not one thing, it's another.

"Fine. Can you do anything to help me remain myself?"

"Your original memories will be coming back slowly, I won't interfere with that," reacting to Erik's scowl, he hastened to say. "It's an extremely delicate process, Erik, I won't risk your sanity. Don't even consider this. But I can blur your true… memories, make them appear less bright and emotional, more detached, and, I suppose, they will be driven out in time. You should realize that it may take not months, but years. Have you changed your mind?"

"I haven't," stood firm Erik.

Later, Charles kept his word.

Erik opened his eyes to bright blue sky and Charles, who claimed that change of environment helped him concentrate better. This time, white fluffy clouds were bleeding into different shapes up in the sky, mesmerizing Erik with variety of forms and fluid motion. He wondered if Charles' native world had that type of atmosphere.

"How are you feeling?" asked Charles, for once hopeful.

"Like usual," Erik slowly sat up and unconsciously mirrored Charles' sitting pose, stretching his legs on the grass; comfortable, he marveled at the quality of projection.

"We could…" quietly ventured Charles.

"Start afresh," picked up Erik.

"So, my name is Charles Xavier, and, um, I'm glad to meet you."

"Erik Lehnsherr. And, I guess, it's mutual."

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No wonder that Erik had missed this war, which started as a military operation of the Union precisely three standard years ago. Just three years ago his ship crash landed on the planet on outskirts of old galaxy. Too far from trade routes and deemed not appealing enough for mining or colonization, due to multiple anomalies. He could grudgingly agree with that estimation, by the way. No one gave a damn about a couple of hundred refugees and ilk, of course. Well, apparently someone did, for Charles assured him that they will be rescued, he would see to that. Erik nodded and that was how that topic ran dry for good.

"We'll need to restock," informed him somewhat dishevelled Charles with a sheepish smile as he was standing in his doorway next morning.

"I can't find anything useful on recent developments using public access: there's nothing which is not propaganda or complete bullshit. Why? Is something wrong?"

"A water synthesizer is, well, broken. And air filters are a tad too sensitive when it comes to electromagnetic waves, you see."

Oh, that was some polite way of pointing out an elephant in the room. Erik didn't know what kind of thing that elephant was, and was not eager to find out, but the expression sprang out from nowhere, a reminder of dead weight of languages he's mastered.

"I can fix them," offered Erik knowingly, indicating that Charles should take a sit by a nod.

Due to lack of second chair, Charles sat down on his bed and found a way to prop his head up with his right hand, so it looked as if he was the one sitting at the desk, not Erik.

"That would be impossible, because we don't have necessary parts and you can't conjure them out of thin air. Yet, in a big port city you or I may be identified and my ship will attract needless attention. The later they learn about your resurrection the better."

He's more precautious than I expected — such as it is, a thought slipped out involuntary.

"Why, thank you," Charles smirked good-humouredly and went on. "There is another option: in twelve hours we can reach Diodor."

"Free-traders," said Erik concisely.

"Indeed. Generally speaking, it's quite a dangerous place, but it would be easier to evade check-points if we landed there."

Then it occurred to Erik what exactly was going on: Charles was consulting him before making a decision.

"Diodor it is, then."

As he watched the planet from the orbit, he could only see a grey sphere almost completely coated with thick white clouds. Rapid industrialization turned for once fertile land into a wasted desolation, with occasional cities and widely known and also widely ignored illegal manufactories. Sean was standing by his side, mutely gaping at the view, which was still impressive, while Charles was busy talking to the representative of orbital control via telescreen.

Recently, Charles was bewailing his failure in teaching the kid to talk, because, according to him, Sean was not really mute, but his speaking had been blocked owing to trauma and, what came as a surprise, an ability to emit supersonic scream. Maybe, it's for the best that he is mute in this case, mused Erik.

_They couldn't scan the ship, so I had to bribe her to avoid further inspection._

Charles' mental message was shaded with uncharacteristic apprehension, so Erik formed a distinct thought, an inquiry. He was getting better and better at thinking in full-fledged, nice sentences and took it as a challenge to retrain his mind, not used to much conversing because of isolation.

_Yes, you're right. The security here has never been this tight, it's bad for business. Something else is going on._

A gigantic spaceport didn't disappoint Erik. It was full of ships from literally every corner of the known universe, as far as he could judge, and was the biggest he's ever been to.

In this life.

Charles left Sean on the ship with a promise to take him with them next time. And Erik finally got an opportunity to examine the ship from outside. Its exterior was dark and dull, matted like Charles' spacesuit, the shape — elongated, as though integrally eliquated from wondrous molten substance, the outlines distantly resembled fighters of the Union regular forces, but unlike them, were not outfitted with beefed up, massive power units in the back of spacecraft. Overall, it gave a strong, sublime impression of a bird darting up and ahead, all sleek lines aimed skyward.

The day was dying in this part of Diodor, and air was filled with smells so diverse that Erik immediately repented forgoing respiratory mask onboard. His low hood granted him an illusion of invisibility and protection. Charles' choice of garment didn't strike him as odd any more, for, the majority of population, were they human or not, made use of something similar: either helmet, cloak or any type of spacesuit for non-humanoids — anything that concealed facial features, if only partially. It stood to reason, that everyone was a potential threat, and, try as he might, Erik couldn't shake off piercing creepiness, for which he could perceive no obvious reason. In this frame of mind, he has seized a chance to carefully look around, jostling through busy crowd and straining his ears through vociferous cacophony.

Next to him, navigating through medley, loud hordes, Charles was unnervingly withdrawn and silent all the way, successfully communicating his intent in neat, small gestures. When Erik asked him whether everything was alright, he got in return, telepathically, that yes, everything was fine. Then, it hit home that Charles must be mighty occupied on levels far beyond Erik's percipience.

The habit to maintain some kind of mental conversation, mainly Charles telling him things, in passing and sometimes without meaning it, but still very much present, has formed as an endeavor of bizarre kind and up till now he's never paid a lot of attention to it. Erik has got used to that pattern so fast. Yeah, he huffed a bitter laugh and grimaced — how could he forget, — in plain truth, that must have been due to his counterpart's input. Not willing to question his confusing feelings and impressions, on chance they might prove more confusing, Erik resolutely ignored them on principle.

Charles has led them to a warehouse store, which, thankfully, was situated on one of middle levels, thus sparing them a long trip down, in the realm of thick smog and ravelment of gravity pathways, oozing low buzzing sound.

A tall insectoid with deep ridges on his cheeks, and obligatory huge, bulging eyes used universal translator, clapped to his chest plate like a badge.

Erik has nearly seethed, the prices were absolutely outrageous, yet Charles paid without bargaining and they promptly left, having discussed the conditions of delivery.

Charles briefly touched his elbow, drawing Erik's attention to an inconspicuous entrance.

"I hope, you don't mind. I want nothing more than to sit down for a moment," he muttered, so Erik finally took notice of that tell-tale tired slump of his shoulders.

"Sure," he shot the entrance a look. To be fair, he also felt more than a little overwhelmed, after being wrapped in the shroud of silence in space for so long. "What is it here?"

"A place to sit and eat, and, what is more important: almost empty and quiet as far as I can tell."

The place was a kind of eatery, which was robot-aided, and therefore extremely cheap. After choosing the booth and turning on a green reflective screen, Charles settled, more like dropped, onto his scuffed plastic chair, leaving Erik with a task of choosing something edible.

"Someone had been trying to follow us," grim tone he said it in touched a chord in Erik.

"Who?"

"Some species are out of my, well, competency, I can only detect the mere presences, that's all," Charles leaned forward, letting his crossed arms rest on the flimsy table. "But, others have seen them anyway, so I can at least tell you, that we've caught the eye of a couple of locals. See for yourself."

Erik got the image of two tall, thin aliens cloaked in protective capes with upper limbs almost reaching the ground.

"They lost us?"

"Oh, they did," Charles' eyes sparkled at that. "Everyone was all over them for a while. It took a lot of effort to fight off such leap in popularity."

"You certainly know how to find an alternative route. And the bad news?" during talking Erik realized with a start, that he liked that in Charles, a special brand of impish creativity he's not noticed before.

"It's stifling," Charles uttered in reluctant manner, averting his gaze. "Fear, anxiety, expectation. One captain saw a settlement attacked by the so-called Herlir Empire. Erik, I," he stumbled, licked his lips, "it was devastating. The Council may vote to give Queen war emergency power — it hadn't happened in centuries and basically, it'll speed up crucial changes…"

"Yes, officially turning the Union into Empire will surely do it. It's high time to call it like it is," it passed his lips unwitting.

"You've already told me that," said Charles to his great surprise and paled.

Up to this point everything was fairly good — oh, the twist of irony.

Erik had no doubt what he meant and he cursed inwardly. Not being a telepath, he could still wager what exactly Charles was thinking — memories or no memories, Eisenhardt's return was simply a question of time.

"That might have been a coincidence, Erik," Charles said tightly, putting emphasis on his name. "I beg your pardon. It was out of order to make such a tactless remark."

Erik wanted to reply but thought better of it and held in.

Charles seemed satisfied by his curt nod, though.

"It just means that during war Queen and her advisors will not have their hands tied."

His point of view actually made some sense. In due course, the Union grew into a structure so legislatively ugly and complicated, that it sometimes short-circuited its own procreations, spawning such funnies like elected monarchy, invention tax and the Council, as sluggish as it was humanly and inhumanly possible.

"If nothing else, someone will get to wear a real crown for once," he drily noted.

"Oh, yes," smiled Charles sadly. "I wouldn't begrudge anyone such good fortune."

Outside, they were greeted by artificial lights up in the sky and illuminated shop signs.

Night fell, like some heavy black curtain from above and coated all megapolis, immediately crawling into its many corners.

Out of habit, Erik looked up into the sky.

"Charles," his skin was starting to prickle. "Can you see it?"

The wailing sound of alarm pierced through his last words, as up in the sky, dark, darker than black circles started to pulse and dilate, and something else could be seen resurfacing out of their depth. There was certain vicious abnormality in all this and something in Erik stirred, no longer satisfied with his role as a silent observer. But Charles chose that moment to forcibly push him down to the ground, just as a beam of yellow light slanted a top of nearby building, which crumbled under assault, hailing them with debris.

Momentarily stunned, Erik coughed up dust, propped himself up with one hand.

Due to dim light he was able to discern that he was saved by a carcass of crashed building, slightly hovering over the ground, protecting him from hurtling weight of entire construction. Charles was silent. Erik focused and the metal carcass flew off. All the screams, wailing, and flares of too bright light came back. A battle was going on up there.

Erik located Charles immediately — he was found lying on his side next to the foundation, clearly unconscious. Darn, Erik could not tell what was wrong until he saw the damage. And yet, when Erik tried to turn him on his back, he stirred.

"Charles, do you hear me? Can you stand?" asked Erik that instant.

_I can certainly try._

If he attempts to joke, he must be alright — reasoned Erik, hell-bent on leaving this place at high speed. He fused all available metal racks and bars together, utilizing a make-shift shield to shelter Charles and himself from more falling debris.

Meanwhile, Charles hoisted himself up, using wall for support.

The rumble and clash of the ongoing battle rose up, until Erik was completely lost in overwhelming noise. He smelled smoke, concrete, melting plastic and burning flesh and , again, anxiety became part of his confusion. Flyer? He reached with his senses and pulled at a falling object, hauled the metal vessel closer. Just in time, Charles stumbled over and then clasped Erik's shoulder to get steady, as he leaned rather heavily on Erik's side.

_I'm afraid, I will have to exploit you a little bit, Erik. Let's get out of here before they lose the sky. It's great that you've found us a transport_.

Somehow, Erik half-dragged Charles into the flyer: a body of previous rider had to be disposed of manually. The way Charles was leaning on him did worry him, but when questioned about his injuries Charles shrugged it off mentally, hence getting to the spaceport became Erik's primary goal; there would be time for licking their wounds later, in safety.

The flight itself was short, but hazardous, as Erik made the poor flyer do impossible twists and dives. The tide of pride and self-assuredness flooded him for a second when he commanded their tiny vessel like he was born to do it, as if it was as easy as breathing. Erik didn't try to discern anything anymore, concentrated on his sole purpose, avoiding falling debris, occasional beams of deadly light from the ground and from the sky forced to the edge of his conscious perception.

Of course, they were not the only ones who decided to flee and spaceport was a true living pandemonium. Hugging Charles with one arm wound round his waist and running-stumbling towards their ship Erik slipped on something. When he made a mistake of looking down he was assaulted by the grim sight of blue blood and mash of intestines beneath his feet, and then the smell hit him: nauseating, acid, it settled deep within his lungs, mucking him from the inside.

The sky was alight with beams and black, widening holes, which covered almost all visible dome.

A battle ship was going down, engulfed in flames, and Erik understood with perfect clarity that the cruiser would crash right here.

He gritted his teeth with grim determination.

Yet, wildly screeching, panicking humans and aliens seemed not to notice them. Desperate, they were tearing at each other throats, trying to get on any ship and escape and no one batted an eye at two men staggering through the massacre.

Soon, Charles, — promised Erik silently, — just cover us a little longer. He's got a faint sense of adhesion in response.

Had it not been for their combined efforts, they would have never made it in time.

When the two of them approached the hulk of Charles' ship, that familiar blue sheen briefly enveloped it before disappearing. The hatchway had been lowered, and in streaming light Erik noticed three containers, obviously left in a hurry next to the ship. Let this trip not be in vain. With a flick of his wrist Erik floated them in, and, after a final dart, Charles and he were in too.

Sean was covering nearby, and once he saw them he sprinted to the closing hatch.

When inside, deafening silence made Erik realize how labored Charles' breathing was, raspy gasps even sounded extremely painful. He didn't need to ask any questions: a downpour of incomprehensible words, complete with emotions, flooded his mind without any warning. Courtesy of Charles, left side suddenly felt like touched by sweltering heat, jostled collarbone and shoulder, it seemed, were one big area of maddening pain.

_Erik, help me to the deck, please._

"Sean, go to your cabin. Don't worry, everything will be alright," heaved Charles breathlessly for the brat's sake, downplaying the gravity of the situation.

"Do as you are told and brace yourself," added Erik helpfully while passing him, because he was not the one to sugarcoat the truth.

Erik, in his turn, also didn't permit himself to stop, and purposefully didn't spare a look at Charles, until they reached the deck. And they did it. Upon coming into contact with Charles that drive came alive, blue brighter than ever, stinging with life.

_We'll live to tell of it, Erik. Trust me._

And Erik has been given a doubtful privilege of witnessing how Charles grew whiter when he leaned back into pilot's seat.

At the moment's notice, ship's dome turned transparent for Erik to watch the tragic play of Diodor's fall, while multiple flickers, beams and tiny dots of light stood for destruction of the most hideous kind. That was the great picture that he so successfully readied himself for, and yet failed, but who can really blame him, for this was his first time watching such enormous battle unfold before his eyes. And he was conscious only of his strong, furious desire to survive.

Again, Charles didn't let them down.

Fast and dashing, the ship sky rocketed at angle impossible for most vessels he knew. Quite a few beams glanced off its surface, prompting new strain lines around Charles' mouth. Dark abominations in the sky grew closer, and Erik saw that that dark matter was spreading like rings in the water, as numerous battle ships were coming out of it, as though spit up by some wormhole. When one fighter of planet resistance flew right into it, it was swallowed without a trace. Their ship slid in between two growing circles and their left wing has nearly grazed living darkness. That's how they left the planet behind, and, Erik's eyes couldn't agree with the fact that space was, one more time, the realm of solitudes. If anything, he felt hardly relieved for several reasons.

Having had his attention snatched from distressing view, he tried to help Charles up, with a lot more care than he had demonstrated previously. Instead of passing out like any normal person would have done long ago, Charles stayed focused solely on him and as yet he found it in himself to share with Erik his relief. In and of itself, Erik couldn't help returning the sentiment.

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Erik was slouched against the wall, contemplatively watching Charles' sleeping form on his bed — he did manage to coax that stubborn man into drinking a sedative. Recollections of medical training, the one which Erik vaguely knew he'd had in the past, as Eisenhardt of course, has been sufficient enough for him to realize — in order to put that shoulder together he needed more advanced equipment. With the help of regenerative solution Charles had taken earlier broken ribs and tissues could be knitted well within a couple of days, but scanning showed that his collarbone was practically shattered, bone shards embedded in muscle. Unless removed, they would continue causing pain and aggravating the injury, thus two remaining weeks to Charles' home planet seemed too long in Erik's personal perspective.

"Stay put and watch over him," he told Sean, perched on plastic chair at Charles' bedside.

The kid gave him a serious look, signifying consent with a jerk of his head.

Back in his cabin, Erik activated a holographic map. But as soon as he called forth the image of the planet, that caught his eye as a possible destination, the awareness he associated with his ability awoke. Suddenly, he was afflicted with unsettling feeling, some movement, not their ship — they had been merely drifting since Charles was temporarily indisposed, but something bigger was definitely closing in.

Whatever is approaching them, he had to put Charles into the picture.

Suffice it to say, Sean jumped out of his chair in a clumsy, protective stance upon seeing Erik rushing in.

"Something is approaching us, so I'm going to wake up Charles," explained Erik in brief, tearing open doors to the medical cabinet.

Charles, unfortunately, wouldn't wake up from a simple pat on the arm.

How Erik hated staying in the backseat, it would appear, especially when his senses were screaming at him that he was already unforgivably late. Besides, Charles was coming awake slowly, more slowly than he predicted, yet Erik didn't like the idea of overdosing a telepath even more.

"Erik, what…" his eyes fluttered open only halfway, as Charles groggily turned his head, aiming to focus on Erik's face. And then, the moment of realization tore him out of healing slumber, — Erik saw the shift in his expression, the widening of his eyes in every tiny detail.

"What is this, Charles? What do you see?"

"Not much," his face contorted in discontent, "they are protecting themselves from telepathy. Just my luck, lately. There are a few people, not shielded," the far-away look in his eyes ceded ground to disbelief. Then, he tensed, not in a good way. "This is, oh my, it's a Valkar battle cruiser, Erik."

Valkar was the name of a frontier system of the Union, and also a planet, and also the ghost echo of the bygone, long forgotten — the Great Empire of the past, an overpowering war machine; terrible legends concerning rough conquests and glorious battles — the stuff you wouldn't find in official records. The tales of honour, victory and betrayal were passed by word of mouth, told in hushed whispers as a dramatic relish for close-door get-togethers.

You have lost everything, all you dreams, your kin are buried in the mounts of ashes, and it was your fault, it was your wasted opportunity…

"Erik, please," Charles hauled himself up with a pained grimace and reached for him, beckoning Erik closer. "You're scaring Sean. This is an especially strong mental impetus, I understand, but try not to get too overwhelmed."

"Charles," he almost seethed, "I don't need your pity or what you are — "

Displaying surprising strength and not so surprising dense tenacity, Charles, for all that Erik had said, still forcefully pulled him down in his lap and clutched hold of him. This mockery of embrace was not even warm or comfortable, and the crown of Charles' head bumped up against his nose, all that hair tickling his face.

"You don't want to listen to me, I know. However, I can show it like this. And stop lying to yourself, Erik, everyone needs human sympathy," he dully muttered into Erik's neck. In fact, he was right, thought Erik, and he could respond, at least. That was only fair for both of them.

"They've pulled us in," said Erik, after a while, just as Charles shifted and withdrew.

"They probably know that we're here, who exactly is onboard, I mean."

"I want to meet them anyway," gravely said Erik.

"You are their long-lost leader. You can be welcomed with honours or you can be condemned as a traitor," Charles sounded sober enough to draw his attention to his last words. "Be careful, they are expecting to see and hear Max Eisenhardt, not Erik Lehnsherr."

"You will be by my side," retorted Erik to that, because he couldn't see any problem with that. Charles has promised from the very beginning that he would lead Erik, guide him when it was necessary.

"I do hope so."

They didn't stall any longer. After all, it was inappropriate and, maybe, dangerous in this situation.

That was the way Erik faced a crowd of his supposed subjects for the first time — clad in the official attire of the Union, backed up by the injured telepath and skinny child, clinging to the said telepath like a stick-tight.

Erik was done being impressed by sizes and technology, after the observed battle for Diodor he felt numb and dejected. Although, the semi-circle of unfamiliar faces immediately drew his eager attention.

In the center there stood a woman with bright-blue skin, mattered by darker scales and sleek shoulder length red hair. She was wearing a plain, metal band around her forehead and a white gown, which, along with a proud set of her head, spoke of belonging to higher nobility. She was surrounded by a dozen of soldiers, blue-skinned and human, wearing the same metal bands, and pointing their phasers at Erik and his companions. Also, there were creatures he'd never seen but recognized from the images Charles sent him earlier, while they had been dining on Diodor. Without cloaks, they looked like a nightmarish hybrid of a man and a spider, their little, opaque eyes, all eight of them, were cataloguing each Erik's movement, grey skin with occasional patches of thin black fur was wrinkled, and the hands, long enough to reach below the so-called knees, were contracting as if they were constantly knitting something with elongated, claw-like spurs. Erik gulped down his revulsion and sincerely hoped that they were not telepathic.

At first, he decided to show them who was who and with a flick of his wrist snatched all phasers from soldier's hands, infinitely pleased by indignant reaction that followed. He let their weapons hover in the air, aimed at them instead. The blue-skinned woman stepped forward, but he stopped her with a curt gesture.

"Mystique," he said, straining his memory, which reluctantly provided him with a dim image of a little blue-skinned girl and a name. "Is that the proper way to greet me? Really?"

Her yellow eyes were still scrutinizing him, but she smiled, politely.

"Of course not, my lord. We apologize," she motioned to her soldiers and strange grey creatures and everyone bowed, not timed, reluctant, but lowered their heads nonetheless.

Except for the grey creatures, for they had nearly become one with the deck.

_Don't show your surprise, Erik. Now I recognize these species. They are hybrids, created by your ancestors to serve those of your kin. They are extremely strong, fast, telepathically resistant and devoted._

"Shall we proceed to my quarters? You can rest there and tell us all about your journey," she glanced right at Charles, completely ignoring him and Sean up to that moment. "It's you again. Why I am not surprised?"

It would have been so much better had Charles told him everything he needed to know in advance — Erik made that thought as loud as possible. Yet, Charles didn't utter a word.

"Please, come with me," she calmly said to Erik and he took a step down to join her.

Everybody was waiting for that, it seemed, because all partakers of this live theatre took it as a signal to leave their respective spots. Soldiers stood to attention, grey hybrids shuffled closer to him and Mystique touched her chest with open palm, an old sign of welcoming a respected visitor.

Distracted by the worrying sight of grey creatures, crawling closer to him, he missed a moment when two of military men circled him. Ill at ease, he snapped his head back, too frantically, and saw them ushering Charles aside, phasers back in their hands.

_Erik, this is her ship and her rules. They are trying to protect themselves from the likes of me so much. It stands to reason, that I will not get a warm welcome. Let's be reasonable._

"Where are you taking him?" asked Erik, and pretended that he didn't catch Charles' mental plea to play along. He hoped that his worry didn't color his voice that much.

"Detention. The telepath should have known that already," shrewdly drawled Mystique. "And, my lord, please, wear this."

One grey skinned creature straightened up and walked to him.

In its spurs, it was holding a flat pillow, atop of which there was the same band everyone else was wearing.

"I don't need it," said Erik in the meanest voice possible.

_At this rate, you will share my fate or worse. Erik, I'm begging you. One of us has to remain free._

"I realize that you rely on your mental training, my lord. However, I can't deny that this one is quite strong, and therefore dangerous. You never know what ideas he may be putting in your mind until it's too late. The Empress of Herlir is a powerful telepath too and their troops are filled with psychics, so everyone should take necessary precautions when your sound judgment is at stake."

There was underlying steel in her words, a message was as clear as day — do it or you will regret it. It put Erik in the crosshairs. His very essence was rebelling against it and cold anger rose inside, but he reached for the band. What looked like metal alloy wasn't responding to his senses. Metal was dead in his fingers, deaf to his call.

_Erik, you can do it. With or without my help, you are you._

I will definitely make you free, you just wait — he thought, and put on the band, which appeared to be an excellent fit.

"You will not do him any harm," Mystique listened to him with unnerving calm. "And he must receive medical treatment."

"That seems unnecessary, but I'll see to it," she smiled.

Together they took the lead in the procession that finally stopped at the doors guarded by blue skinned soldiers. Erik was too absorbed into taking in the new details and his expression was, without a doubt, suitable for the situation, because the looks he noticed were filled with a great deal of apprehension.

Mystique's quarters consisted of one large round room, decorated with too much white for Erik's taste.

"Leave us," she told their escort as she and Erik strolled in.

When the doors slid shut she turned to him and gone was thin air of polite respect.

"If not for your powers, I would have taken the greatest pleasure in torturing an impostor," she said rather unceremoniously.

"Know your place," whipped out Erik. "You're a fine one to talk."

She laughed, and it looked as if a wave ran down her skin, and her appearance changed. A version of Charles, albeit with shorter hair and slightly more rounded face, was looking at him.

"Are you Max or are you a very nice copy? " wry smile depraved Charles of his customary mellow look.

"And you?"

"Why do you need that telepath? Hadn't you learned already that he is your sworn enemy. These are your words, not mine."

"Why I need him is not your business," Erik was thinking quickly. "We have the same enemy this time," talking in general phrases he picked up from Charles was coming in handy, "and for now, I'll use any means I deem necessary to reach my goal. How did you find us, by the way?"

Mystique shifted one more time, this time looking like one of grey skinned hybrids.

"We've been looking for you, constantly checking every decent spaceport in the galaxy. Wary of the telepath, your servants sent us a message and put a transmission unit into one of the containers."

She was making it sound so simple. And if discovering him was really that easy, why hadn't she done it before, while he was left up to chance, playing a surviving game on that hell of a planet.

"Leave me alone," due to tension, which grew inside like a tightening knot, he was not sure how longer he would be able to maintain this charade.

Thankfully, she left, not without giving him a last speculative look, and Erik was finally left alone, in cool opulence of her white chambers.

His fist formed a dent in the wall as his vision became clear.

Darn it! Damn containers. At least, he still had someone he could confide in. Erik ripped off the band from his head and inhaled deeply. _Charles_ — he repeated the name once, twice, five times, varying the tone of his mental voice, repeated it with more vigor, attaching different emotions.

There was complete and total silence inside his head.

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	3. Homeland

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The hybrid's voice was sibilant but comprehensible; the language he was using was the archaic form of the ancient Imperial dialect understood by a few living beings in the universe and, also, by some linguistic enthusiasts.

"I want you to show me the way to the holding cells," firmly repeated Erik, staring at the creature, who was the leader of the hybrids and who should have obeyed him instantaneously.

"Please, Master," his response was a hiss, accentuated by the nervous tremor of the agile limbs. "Leaving your quarters is not wise, especially at this hour."

"I can't care less about her curfew. Besides, I don't see a reason why I should follow the same rules. She is treating your Lord like a lowly prisoner. Are you okay with that?"

That, at last, prompted eager negation from the hybrid in front of him and two more, guarding the doors from the inside. They also produced an angry clicking sound, no doubt, a warning sign. The one who was standing before him bowed in submission, multiple black eyes turned to the floor.

"I'm ashamed, Master. For I've doubted you, and disobeyed you. You're our true Lord and Ruler and I'm begging you to punish me accordingly."

Erik, overcoming his initial aversion, reacted by lifting his hand and putting it on the creature's lowered head. The grey wrinkled skin was dry and warm and not that unpleasant, and, he reasoned, he really needed more trustworthy allies, so why not. The broad and wide world is filled with different creatures: so what if it was like patting a huge human spider.

"My Master…"

He was hoping that slight shaking was the display of ecstasy and he was right.

As a result of his intuitive gesture, all three hybrids sprawled on the floor in the show of utter compliance. Erik felt ridiculous but let them do it: anything to get them on his side. Besides, he could get over some bowing and scraping. When they calmed down Erik voiced his order one more time and all three stepped forward to guide him, their posts inside the room immediately substituted by the newly arrived hybrids. The unity of consciousness was responsible for this and probably that's why the hybrids didn't have names for they were plenty and yet they were one. Anyhow, it made Erik's job easier.

"I need to see the telepath who was with me. Take me to him," explained he to his escort.

"As you wish, Master," clacked the one he distinguished as a leader and led Erik, flanked by the others, through the maze of the corridors, sliding doors and elevators deeper, to the lower levels of the ship.

There were signs of decay everywhere and the surface polish of the upper decks was only an attempt to conceal the general abnormal state of the battle cruiser. The intimidating shell was actually hiding a vulnerable and easily harmed core. Erik didn't want to underestimate Mystique, but she was so evidently trying to dazzle him and everyone else. Once again, either due to Eisenhardt's already critical attitude or thanks to his own common sense, he thought that he saw through the part of pretense. If his judgment is right, she wouldn't have dared to disobey his direct order. Yet, he had to see Charles and make sure that he was okay. Erik had already wasted five days dining and conversing with Mystique and her officers and acting like the arrogant, hard-edged, aloof lord. Well, aloof was fine with him, but everything else left a vile taste on his tongue, as he had been reluctantly forced into giving reigns to Eisenhardt more and more lately, especially when cornered by extremely loyal or extremely suspicious individuals.

The technicians they came across scattered as soon as they saw who exactly was approaching them. He barked the order to the guards, stationed by the entrance to the section where the prisoners were kept and, after a tense millisecond of hesitation, it worked. They let Erik and his hybrids in.

When Erik finally stood in front of a sleek steel door, one of many in the long corridor, while hybrids were watching him with expectation, he decided that he didn't have any qualms about inflicting some damage. It was a good chance to train, in his opinion, and he was also in the mood for breaking things: his nerves stretched taut like a deadly wire ready to snap given the opportunity. Delving deeper, into the place he associated with his powers, he reached with his senses and touched the locking mechanism — it vibrated as if caressed by waves upon waves of energy and then he transformed his intention into the impulse of power. _Melt_ — he commanded and it did.

Charles was slouched on the inbuilt narrow bench, staring at the floor, and that bench was the only visible piece of furniture in the narrow white room, which, upon Erik's entry, became very cramped. Charles immediately snapped his lowered head up and scrambled to his feet, keeping back to the wall. And then recognition lightened his haggard face; however, his expression transformed from bewildered into hopeful and then into guarded as he subsequently saw the hybrid who infiltrated the tiny cell following Erik.

"Charles, they are with me. There's no need to worry," quickly said Erik and turned to the hybrid, using the bits of half-memory and carefully choosing the appropriate words. "This man has saved my life. Treat him well."

"Telepath," hissed the hybrid moving nearer.

Charles flinched.

"Enough," Erik stepped up closer and turned around so that Charles was now behind his back. That protective maneuver didn't go unnoticed and the hybrid froze in place with his claw-like hands extended for attack.

"You told me that you wanted to see him, Master. You saw him. What else can you possibly want from him?"

Well, Charles desperately needed to listen to a reprimand Erik wanted to deliver, and he also needed a stinging rebuke for all good things that had happened to Erik because of his silence on the most significant subjects. Even so, right now, with Charles standing in such proximity, almost pressed to him, it became less important. Erik would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't simply worried.

"Remember this as I say it — he is to stay safe and whole. Always," gravely said Erik, embarrassed to the point that words leaving him seemed like hot stones he had to push through his throat. "From now on you will regard this man as my…"

"Erik, um, I don't understand a word," whispered Charles in frenzy, his warm breath, an unfair distraction, was tickling the side of Erik's neck. "But, maybe, you shouldn't provoke them more, that is. It's expected of them to attack the potential threat."

Erik groaned internally.

"Would you be so kind and keep silent," asked Erik almost politely, albeit with proper amount of acid sarcasm.

"Master?" inquired hybrid meanwhile, cocking his head from side to side and, as far as Erik could tell, the creature looked overall puzzled and, sort of, lost.

"Yes, it is exactly like you've heard. He is my close friend," secretly relived that Charles was out of the conversation, Erik went on quickly. "A telepath he may be, but he is the one whom I've chosen to stand at my side. Therefore, the appropriate treatment is expected. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Master. We trust your choice," the hybrid was looking right at Charles and his next words took Erik aback. "Everyone is curious. May I have a try, Master?"

"What?!"

And then Erik recalled sniffing and probing the hybrids used to greet each other, how delighted skin to skin contact usually made them. There was something distinctly childish about these beasts able to snap a man's arm in two, just like they had done recently when some fool decided that casually clapping Erik on the shoulder was a good idea.

"All right, but be careful," he warned and addressed Charles, with a note of apology in his voice. "You need to bear with this for a while. This is for your own sake."

Next couple of minutes Erik watched, with mixed feelings, how Charles attempted to keep in nervous squirming and almost all sounds. The shoulder was still bothering him: it was evident as it was reflected in the way he was favoring it. Although, it wasn't as bad as before, he must have been treated. Good, thought Erik right when the hybrid was done sniffling Charles' hair, his claws carefully retracted, as he skimmed his back and shoulders with light strokes.

"My Master, your friend smells of exhaustion and fear," prudently reported the hybrid, leaving poor man alone at last. "The suppression collar affects him badly."

What collar is he talking about?

"Charles, what collar is he talking about?" Erik felt his stomach turn, he peered closer at Charles and swore to himself when the awareness of the metal band around Charles' neck came into focus. Seeing as it was thin enough to be hidden beneath the rather high collar of the uniform, it wasn't so surprising now that Charles couldn't speak to him mentally.

Wordlessly, Charles, in his turn, tugged down the stand-up collar of his familiar grey jacket and it revealed a thin, a little wider than an inch, black stripe of metal fit snugly against his skin.

"This is a new model," Charles smiled ruefully and made a face, "light and almost comfortable."

"I will get rid of it," decided Erik and before Charles could utter a word of protest he added. "That influences you more than the others, right?"

"That's true, but that doesn't mean that your lady commander will let me stay without it," he trailed off with a raw sigh as he sat down on the bench and the hybrid immediately perched by his side, as though reluctant to let go of the new interesting toy. Meeting his gaze, Charles tentatively reached the grey creature and lightly touched it with his fingertips. Erik nodded in mute approval. After a few light pats the hybrid went absolutely still.

"Extraordinary and… so warm," softly said Charles. "How did you make them accept me?"

"That was rather easy," smirked Erik, but his brow knitted in concern regardless. "More importantly, are you all right? How is your wound?"

"Fine, the wound's getting better, I suppose. How much time is left until we reach Valkar? I have to confess, I've lost all track of it. They never dim the lights here, you see."

His blue eyes, when he looked at Erik, appeared disturbingly dull, devoid of customary vibrancy and color, chestnut hair was carelessly tousled and, for the first time since they met, looked unkept. From this distance Erik couldn't pretend that the sickly, grey tinge to his skin was a mere trick of light. That instance, Erik felt a pang of something he thought he would never experience again, — it was piercing compassion, oddly tainted by the first sprouts of the rising fury.

"The ship will arrive tomorrow. You didn't answer my question, Charles. Are you alright?"

"I'm afraid not. Totally not alright. What do you think, Erik?"

Unable to hold eye contact Charles buried his head in his hands, ruffling his hair and muttering self-deprecatingly:

"I am sorry, I am not up to proper conversation, it seems. I never expected it to be so tough. I've been used to silence during my journey, but this is, I don't know why it is so different. It's as if I am drowning in the void, in vacuum, the quiet is sucking me in," his breathing grew distinctly ragged, "it doesn't let me sleep, Erik."

The hybrid understood his gesture correctly and moved away, quietly scooted over to the door, joining the other guards.

"Charles," Erik joined him on the bench, making no move to get any more personal, not sure whether it would be welcomed. "What can I do to make it better? Honestly."

"Could you talk to me before they come to fetch you away? Tell me about people you've met, news you've heard. Anything will do."

"Okay."

So he started with his first public appearance at the dinner in the captain's quarters, Mystique bringing him up to date with actually unsurprising news that Valkar system was in the process of dropping out from the Union. Charles grew extremely worried: there was an expression of anxiety and keen attention upon his face. Without a doubt, he'd come to the same conclusion like Erik — the world balance of power was going to shift drastically. Though, what exactly Valkar hoped to gain with its outdated technology and still impressive but rusty battle ships remained a mystery.

He even mentioned the man with the broken hand — and Charles sourly expressed his great relief that Erik has got himself such highly efficient bodyguards. Pretty soon, in the middle of retelling the last debate with Mystique Charles' head suddenly came to rest on his shoulder — Erik darted a wary look — and saw what he expected, hoped to see, for Charles was indeed fast asleep, eyes shut and features slack. Just like that.

Yeah, that's much better — thought Erik and his lips quirked, half-way to a remorseful, bitter smile.

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The Scarlet Castle was filled with ghosts, the pale apparitions of forgotten glory, and thus was hardly habitable for gone were the majority of servants and the remaining hybrids, try as they might, couldn't scrub clean the enormous structure which was reaching the clouds, and that was not a figure of speech.

Long ago, it was a city in itself, a huge, marvelous complex overlooking the sea from the one side and mountain range from the other. It was considered the miracle of design and the paragon of majestic beauty for a reason. Many building phases added to the size of the Scarlet Castle: terraces and grand stairways, extra rooms were supplied by each and every generation of the imperial family which was going on and on claiming stars and planet systems, its proverbial self-indulgence legendary and as old as the stars themselves.

Erik hadn't recognized the corridor from his dreams so far, but that meant nothing. It was there, in the maze of multiple floors and passages, — he felt it in his bones. He recalled very distantly, that behind that mountain he could see from the balcony of his chambers, there was Forbidden Dale, the land where his ancestors had been buried. Something about that place made his pulse speed up: he strongly suspected that it would bring to life certain painful, emotional memories even despite Charles' block.

In addition to loyal hybrids, who were slowly but surely losing the aura of the first decidedly negative impression in Erik's eyes, a lot of people were welcoming him back, praising him for things he hadn't remembered doing, and expecting even more from him. After careful deliberation Erik decided that two thirds of those couldn't be trusted, but what must he do with the rest. Up till now, he did well, but he had no intention to stay and push his luck. The ground beneath his feet, the air he was breathing, silk sheets of his bed, rich red drapes and faintly faded heavy carpets, people hailing him, people watching his every move and expecting so much from him — all of that was alien to Erik.

On the planet, especially after witnessing the procession that gathered to greet him, Mystique shed her haughtiness a bit, which was partially feigned in the first place.

"If you insist on keeping the telepath close and uncollared again, and I've given you a fair warning before, the old nobility will not accept you back. Eisenhardt or not."

True, she sounded less taunting and more thoughtful; and poisonous, acid tentacles of awful uneasiness were worming themselves into his mind again. The proud leader of her race and the one blessed with the shapeshifting ability, this woman used to be his second in command, the fact he surely remembered, yet he also couldn't help wondering whether something else linked them together. Too much underlying tension could be noticed in her manner. Unlike Charles, who used to be much guarded and jaded around him but didn't intend to hide it, she was quite certainly keeping something back, doning various fancy masks with unperturbed fluency. There were confusing memory fragments and pieces not sticking together. And well, now, when she was finally done checking his identity, she wanted to get reacquainted with his goals of course. Good luck with that.

Mystique was standing beside the large open window, still unwearyingly waiting for his reaction. Her dark blue complexion and snow white gown clashed with cream and pink of the early sunrise. The contrast was very startling. And he had to admit that she looked gorgeous.

"I'd like to study that black ship," she trained her eyes on the rising star, deeming his silence expressive enough in lieu of the answer. "The chronicles of the Intergalactic War mention the vessels of Shi'ar, unbelievably fast and deadly. I don't need to remind you about the aggressor our people had fought with and had won against. This is only a hypothesis, but isn't it too big a coincidence that relic like this appears out of nowhere?"

"Forget about the ship. The Union ambassador will be here soon, get ready to welcome her."

Once upon a time, when the ice of the confusing first meeting had started to melt bit by bit, Charles has confessed that he had begun to feel some sort of almost symbiotic bond between himself and that enigmatic vessel. To tell the truth, Erik had suspected long ago that the origins of the ship had better remain buried — in his eyes it was a valuable asset and nothing more.

Even so, no matter how rough it was to acknowledge the fact, Mystique was right about Charles. He'd better stay confined for now, in relative safety, until Erik finds a way to get him out without constant threat portentously looming over his head.

Together, they left his room and proceeded down the corridor to the large circular reception hall, immediately flanked by the guards and hybrids waiting outside the door.

The inner walls of the hall were decorated with massive red columns and old bas-reliefs carved in white rock — the lords of the past in complete armor were looking at him out of stone, sculptured men and women, strangers whose royal blood was apparently flowing through his veins and whose fateful legacy he had so hastily decided to cast away. At the moment he had been extremely glad that he made that decision as the ceremonial cape he had had to wear never seemed that heavy on his shoulders.

A woman with white streak of hair, curiously marring her otherwise light-brown unruly locks, was backed up by a dozen of honorary guards in formal grey uniform, and one of the Queen's knights, clad in traditional black. Erik schooled his features in a blank mask when the knight's penetrating eyes met his. The appearance of the knight here was as unexpected and unprecedented as it was dangerous — these individuals were the hunting dogs of the Union regime and they, the ones who were previously reclining in the shadows, finally stepped forward under the pretense of increased danger for their Monarch, now officially the Head of the Union military forces. This man, for instance, was already holding himself like a proper uptight high-ranking officer, projecting unsubtle cold hostility under the neutral front.

After enforced formal introductions which had taken them nearly half an hour and finally ended when the doors to the small council room closed behind the ambassador, the knight, who hadn't introduced himself yet, Mystique, silently fuming at the breach of protocol, and Erik, who desperately wished to end this sham aka meeting and concentrate on other, more essential problems.

"Let me put it straight," exclaimed the ambassador, putting both gloved hands on the round table with a loud clap.

"Anna Marie," said the knight in a tight, low voice and the sound of her name came out like a quick lash, rendering her boisterous persona stiff for a moment.

"Oh, come on, Summers. Everyone in this room knows what's going on, even those risen from the dead," the one referred to as Anna Marie, no fancy titles, pointedly looked at Erik. "You are some governor, lord Eisenhardt, and I won't be asking what the hell you have been doing all this time though I should. The system is on the verge of the economic collapse and, frankly speaking, is more a burden than anything else. We don't need you, but you need us. Or have you already forgotten that the treaty you're trying to negate was a salvation the last Empress had worked hard to establish—"

She was speaking about his mother, who was represented by a pleasant smiling face and a couple of general phrases in his memory, but for whom his heart ached deeply, incredibly. Yes, she was the one who attempted to turn the house of Eisenhardt, the rulers of Valkar, into the subjects of the Union. Yet, Erik realized, after having seen the ruin that the exhausted planet was slowly but surely succumbing to, that, probably, such decision was the only reasonable solution — and if choosing between leaving with crumbles of dignity on the periphery, being cut off completely, and accepting the disillusioning fact that times had indeed changed she had chosen the second, Erik felt that he was not able to blame her. Max did though.

"You are either stopping this or you are going to lose the last chance to get a truce."

"But you are also not in the position to engage in more conflicts," shrewdly pointed out Erik and inwardly cursed Mystique who acted like a rather independent subgovernor, while he was elsewhere, and took her sweet time to promote this initiative.

"Likewise," the ambassador smiled crudely, challenging him.

"You are not doing well, so far," Mystique said.

Influenced as she was, by fiery passion, Anna Marie had jerked forward but thankfully knight's grip on her elbow prevented her from doing so. This woman, decided Erik, was a very poor choice for a negotiator, but he certainly liked her plain candour. It was by far the most refreshing.

The stone surface of the table emitted a faint creak and Erik has doubtlessly guessed that it was Anna Marie's power showing itself. Darn, but it was impressive. The crack was now running through the hard solid granite, searing it like an exceptionally telling marker, breaking the round table in two.

"Leave it, Anna Marie," grimly uttered the knight, letting go of her. "This meeting is just a formality anyway. Personally, I don't want to have their ships incorporated in our fleet, it's like asking for an eventual stab in the back. Which will come sooner or later."

Suddenly, Erik felt a surge of antipathy so strong that his control over metal has nearly slipped. He was a millisecond away from stabbing the cheeky bastard with his own gilded armband, encasing his arm temptingly close to his heart.

"But, I guess, you know the reason for my arrival," the knight emphasized his next words by lowering his head, the only sign of grudging respect so far, and Erik, already contradicted, stared at him in bewilderment.

"What do you mean?" Erik asked, fixing his eyes upon the man.

"There is quite a valid reason, I think," slowly answered Mystique, since she was studying the knight's expression attentively.

"And?" each second drove Erik more and more homicidal.

"Here it is. My battle cruiser had picked up the escape pod, and fortunately for survivors, we encountered them just in time before their supply of oxygen ran dry. Three of the people onboard were already dead due to multiple wounds and two were alive. We identified them as the sole survivors of the Union battle ship, though the soldiers refused to cooperate."

By this time, Erik ought to have accustomed himself to such surprises.

"What have you done with them?"

"We are not in the position to take it lightly. I've ordered to detain them."

Erik's perspective strongly contrasted with what she advocated as vigilance. It will require a tackle of enormous effort to smoothen the rough edges of the nightmarish situation she created. And then he caught himself thinking that, he stifled a frustrated groan— the fate of this planet system was not his business. He had no idea why he was getting so involved.

"In two standard hours, I want them released and gone from the planet," said Erik.

Mystique and the ambassador turned to him almost simultaneously.

"You," Erik found out that intentional rudeness was rather satisfying when applied to the knights and their likes. Well, he was not going to call the bastard Your Honour. "Come with me. We need to discuss something. One on one."

Thus ended the conversation, which, Erik anticipated, in no distant future, should lead to grave consequences. To what end he dared not make a guess.

Quickly, Erik strode back into the reception hall and from there he turned into the long, tall gallery, devoid of natural light. Contrary to his customary choice, he left his back open, letting the man follow him a few feet behind. About a dozen steps separated two of them and their guards.

"Who is it?" he asked suddenly, out of some strange idle interest. "A family member, a lover, a friend?"

"I thought, you knew," the knight drew up with him easily. "This is about my brother."

"Hm."

"Thank you for consideration, lord Eisenhardt," he got out, to Erik's immense surprise.

"It comes with a price," remarked Erik carefully.

"I'm aware."

"Good, because as I have told you before, you are to leave this planet soon. You'll take one more man with you, though. He is also a prisoner in the detention block and one of my servants will lead you to him. Although, you must be discreet."

"Who is—"

"He is one of your men as well."

The knight didn't appear reassured and neither did Erik. Indeed, he knows so little about Charles, yet he has come to like him as a person, having no clue what his social standing is, except that his speech patterns and manners sometimes screamed of aristocratic upbringing, though at times he didn't look the part. From the very beginning, it was not important.

"The question of the end of truce is not settled yet."

"There are difficulties. However, I intend to go through the issues myself," even now Erik was regretting that he had told so much. "You will be notified of the result. Promise me that you'll bring him to safety."

"I, Scott Summers, the knight of the Union, give you my word."

He extended his hand and then formed a fist, sigillating his words.

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A spurious, grim sensation washed over Erik when he returned back to his assigned chambers. As the sun disc was high in the sky and the heat burned through tall windows, he unclasped the cape and let it fall down, before he suffocated in the heavy fabric. Despite having more insight than any other time, Erik was intensely wary of the agreement he had made. Within the given interval, Summers should already be on the way to the spaceport right now. The possible resistance of Mystique and her troops meant not much, for the knight's battle fortress on orbit was a tough argument on its own. Still, the insistent question remained. Why was she trying their patience at all? If his mother, and her former sovereign, suggested such course long ago, she must have been ready to necessary changes. Here, Erik was venturing in the dark blindfolded.

"Master," the call tore him out of ill-timed reflections.

It may safely be said that Erik was a bit startled, because the hybrid appeared right behind him, unintentionally disturbing him not in the best of ways.

Erik turned around, automatically flexing his body into the defensive stance. The part that the hybrids' appearance played was inconsiderable when compared with the general agitated state of mind and heavy atmosphere he recently found himself in.

"What is it?"

"Something is wrong, my lord," replied his spidery servant and had he had human facial expressions, these would have been deep, troubled wrinkles on his forehead. Right?

"Define wrong," Erik dashed to the alcove next to the huge, dark wood dresser and pressed on the panel on his eyelevel. As his memory suggested there should have been an empty space behind the alcoves of such kind. A trick, known by those of royal blood and their most loyal servants.

"There was a brief commotion on the ground level of the castle. No one of us was there unfortunately, but we will investigate if you order us to," went on the hybrid, while Erik was busy checking the energy supply of the found dusty phaser. Of course, it was dreadfully low.

"Do it. Where is Mystique?"

"She is praying in the central temple like she usually does at noon."

"Is anyone watching her?" per Erik's request they must have been.

"Yes, we're watching."

Not eager to linger in the room anymore Erik has done something he probably shouldn't have done. He left the chambers, whipped forward by the chilly, sharp feeling spreading in his chest. The guards, both human and blue-skinned, were stunned by his appearance, but he didn't allow them stall him or, moreover, accompany him for that matter. The social connotations were not something he concerned himself with at the moment. The desire to leave was quite peculiarly strong and, in addition, illogical in its origin, but it was affecting him like a bodily need would. Under Erik's eyelids leaped the visions of the chase, which had taken place long ago. The chase along the same corridor. In the vision, there was also a weapon in his hands, and the corridor was also deadly, oddly empty. Out of the data of past experiences and his own inclinations, Erik has come to the conclusion that something more than the scarce commotion was going on.

"How exactly can you feel what's going on through your brothers? And how many of you are there in the castle?"

"We have only the general impression."

So this is indeed some form of rudimentary telepathy, mused Erik. Fear the telepaths yet create the ones you can easily control. Speaking of double standards.

"There are seventy nine of us in this castle, my lord," went on the hybrid on his left. "About a hundred are travelling with different ships, searching for you. They should be coming back soon."

Erik caught the sound of the footsteps behind them. It seemed as if some people were hurrying in his direction, so he pushed open the door, one of many. To him, it appeared like some abandoned closet hence he ushered his two hybrids in without a second thought. Erik immediately marched to the back wall, expecting to find the door to the narrow passageway parallel to the major one. Anyone who had partaken in designing the castle must have been either a genius or a paranoid psychopath. Or the combination of two. In the dim light of the weak, exhausted sphere, he pushed open the door, hidden behind the drapes. He didn't sense any metal in it, the structure was solid stone and he barely managed to push it and not lose his face in front of hybrids, politely waiting for his orders. When he succeeded, they didn't let him go first and Erik was reluctantly glad. After passing through the door, he made the mistake of leaning on the door too much and thus heard the corresponding dull click. So closing it was not that hard. Great. Now, he's shut himself in.

Pretending that it was the plan from the start, Erik has rolled up his shirt sleeve. He became a lucky owner of the bracelets imbedded with solar crystals. The worth of one gemstone could easily rival that of the average cruiser. Previously he decided that the stones were fancy yet fairly useless, what mattered was the metal, but when uncovered, they started emitting the steady soft light in the dark, giving his eyes the chance to take in the surroundings.

"The one I have sent to fetch my friend. Where is he? Are you able to sense anything from him?" he asked, lifting his hand up. Lord, it was neither a corridor nor a closet.

The door they have skidded through has led to the large circular room with unbelievably high ceiling. Feeble light was not able to reach it. The darkness was thick and deep.

In the floor, but there was no floor, not really; in the center of the room, as far as his eyes could see, there was a huge round hole, the diameter of which has left very little space for the actual floor. Erik was lucky that he didn't step farther from the alcove, where the door was situated.

"Master, he is gone."

Echo resonated everywhere: the sound was trapped in the snare of the mysterious room, begging to be set free.

"Who is gone?" Erik has forgotten the question, mesmerized by the call of the black abyss, overcome by some sort of silent fascination.

He walked to the very edge, where the cold draught felt like pleasant caress on his heated face, and looked in. The air here smelled of something rusty and strident. That thing from the depth was calling him; he could swear the metal hidden at the bottom of this pit has been familiar.

"The one you have ordered to assist the knight."

Then, the statement hit him. And took all spirit out of him.

"What has happened to him?" he nearly snapped, and lost was the magic moment of tranquility.

"I am so sorry, my lord. We can't tell right now, but we know for sure that he is gone. Not with us anymore."

The hybrids were covering on the ground by end of the sentence, no doubt expecting the bout of rage.

"Stop it! Stand up or I will leave you here forever," threatened them Erik and made a wide gesture for good measure, highlighting his attempt at intimidation. The gleaming bracelet made it all more expressive.

The hybrid he has sent to Charles was dead, which couldn't be good news. What was Summers thinking? Erik did do the bastard a fine favor and he expected the same in return. After all, isn't following an oath a knight's second nature?

"Master?"

"Yes, you may speak," allowed Erik when they have straightened up.

"I dare presume that something has also happened in your chambers. One of us went in to check and since then he is lost. We can't hear him."

Serendipity can figure things so grand, so surprising and so fast. Erik would have been astonished were he not distressed because of the update, although he had every darn right to be extremely proud of his shrewdness.

"I am," Erik paused mid-sentence, but realized that stopping now would be even weirder. "I am sorry for your loss, though the time for mourning will come later. Let's get out of here."

Tearing off the metal railing and transforming it into a thin platform was an easy task. Floating the platform over the bottomless shaft proved more difficult than previously anticipated. That was something he has never done before, but the prospect of the levitation made him keen, Erik absolutely needed to try and find out could he do it or not. Again, deep inside Erik knew that he could. He could do that and so much more.

The hybrids obediently jumped on the platform and Erik has lowered them down, using his bracelet like a light sphere. Though the descend was rather fast by his standards, the metal platform hadn't reached the bottom of the pit yet. The walls of the structure were made of some substantial concrete, years, or, very probably centuries had left no significant trace.

Like Erik had thought, it was previously a silo used to launch ancient interstellar ships plenty years ago. As soon as the platform touched the floor he stepped forth and light has fallen onto the cylindrical space ship, on some sort of angled platform, a true museum artifact towering over the whole hangar. Oh yeah, he recalls this place now. It was only one of abandoned escape hangars, hidden right under the castle to be used at the time of dire need. The technology soon became outdated and thus forgotten as the Scarlet Castle preferred to eat up its' many secrets or bury them alive. Erik tilted his head up to have a proper look. In the past, he has studied the drawings, he certainly knew this stuff very well. But nevertheless he was slightly flabbergasted: seeing something like this with your own eyes made a great difference.

"Find the exit, quickly," said Erik, straining his memory in vain.

Know it all Eisenhardt knew absolutely nothing about this part of the castle. Fine, he doesn't need his cues anyway, — made up his mind Erik, and stretched his awareness of magnetic fields further than ever. There was a lot to pick up, starting from multiple cables and wires running along the walls, rails crossing the floor of the hangar and many tools, metal boxes, parts of machinery lying around, slowly withering away. He let the tunes of each specific vibration fill his entire being until his palms began to tingle. Earlier Charles theorized about Erik binding his powers to his hands in order to extend more manual control, and Erik stroke back by bringing Charles' attention to his own customary gesture. And even though in Charles' case that particular gesture was a mere warning for others, and, maybe, a reflex, Erik really felt that the hand movements helped him to direct the usage of his ability. He was grateful for this memory of Charles for it helped him to concentrate better and reminded him one more time that he must get out without delay.

There it was. In his head there formed an image of the vacuum fan, and Erik decided to check it. These were usually designed to vent air, so there must be a passage somewhere and that passage should lead outside.

Soon, they left the hangar behind. Erik's intention had been to use some kind of transport, but, alas, there was nothing here that could possibly start just because he wanted it to start. So he practices his skills in levitating metal again. Thankfully, the tunnel was wide enough for a mechanical cart to pass. That meant that he had certain freedom of movement there.

Seeing the daylight at the end of the tunnel seemed like the best of prizes for him. To his inexpressible astonishment, the tunnel opened to the gorge somewhere in the mountains. The sunlight was not able to reach in and brighten the vertical walls of the cliff. Erik tried not to gape too much at bizarre greenery and liana-like red sprouts of big scarlet flowers with petals the size of an average human. The vegetation was stubbornly squishing through the cracks in the rock and crawling towards the stingy sunlight, up and up.

Erik lifted the platform up. The outlines of two moons were already visible on the purpling canvas of the sky. The appearance of the third one would signal the official end of the standart day. Right in front of his eyes, he could see the entrance to the Forbidden Dale: two gigantic, polished by elements statues of hybrids carved in rock were flaming in a blaze of rubicund due to the sun. Erik found himself, inexplicably, frowning at it. Strong wind blew into his face, and the tiny, piercing sand particles, courtesy of the nearby sandy beach and desert, were hurting his eyes. But at least this wind brought along the fresh, salty smell of seaside and an indescribable smell of desert, which called forth the nostalgia. With that sort of feeling he realized why he cared all of a sudden. Despite the shadiness of nobility, the plots and under-actions, despite constantly being on the watch for danger and back-stabbing allies, strange beasts, even stranger castle, and wilderness and great silence of the long-suffering land, immensely tired of imperial ambitions, there was also a faint sense of home amongst all that.

His hand, when he attempted to cover his eyes from the insistent sand, came into contact with the metal of his head band. At length, he should have disposed of it long ago. Therefore, Erik has spared his frustration, lest it should soar eventually. At a wild blast of wind, which swept out the hybrid's cloaks and the coat-tails of his knee-length coat, he took it off and thought of tossing it away, but changed his mind and carefully pressed on the tiny prominence in the middle. The round band retracted into a smaller yet thicker shape and it fit nicely into his inner pocket.

Looking back at the top of the castle, visible through the clouds, he freed his mind, opened it to the universal ether of the world and carefully lowered down the walls, guarding his mental scape from intrusion. He'd considered odds and ends, and he would rather not hear anything at all. If only Charles had left the planet onboard the knight's fortress.

He waited.

Barely a minute has passed before that familiar voice broke the silence inside his head.

Lord, he knew it.

_Erik! Oh, thank gods! Are you all right? _

Yes, he was and he also wanted to know what Charles was still doing there, so he'd better explain everything right now. Darn, but the other's telepathic range was impressive. The idea elicited a shudder and he, determined, trampled it down.

_This is a long story, but you have to know that the ambush ensued at the spaceport. The explosion had destroyed the ship of the ambassador. I'm sorry, Erik. Your servant has died protecting me. I feel that my apology is not going to sound adequate, but— _

Already aware — told him Erik with sense of urgency. Only Charles has managed to make him feel that special sort of frustration spiced with amiability.

_We reclaimed my ship and all the rest of us got to the fortress safely. I asked Scott to wait for us and he'd given me a day and promised to send the exact coordinates later. But, maybe that was too presumptuous of me. Erik, would you, perhaps, like to stay?_

You do know what questions to ask, don't you?

Charles stopped talking.

Meet me here, — he imagined the center of Forbidden Dale as he, or rather Eisenhardt, recalled it and even the coordinates sprang to mind. I want to talk to you in person — he added.

_Fine, my friend. See you soon. Please, take care._

_._

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_._


	4. The Mistrust

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The Dale was literally a cemetery: a pretentious one, but a cemetery nonetheless. Statues carved in different, but without a doubt, excellent stones were silently screaming of exaggerated vanity, unavoidable mortality and fear in the face of the inevitable end. The most ancient sculptures were the biggest: about twenty meters high and they have also suffered the most. Near the center, the monuments grew more modest in size, but the precious stones more than made up for that little concession. Like every human creation the statues needed deliberate, careful maintenance in order to be presentable. Yet, years had passed and the world had changed. The Lords had perished and their legacy, their memory had perished with them, leaving behind nothing but a dusty trail and sometimes headless, occasionally displaying missing limbs figures, badly beaten by elements and merciless time itself.

Charles was already waiting for him, perched on a stone, which looked like a fragment of the broken statue, partially covered in gravel. It was difficult to tell under the mounts of sand, but the bare pedestal behind him provided valid evidence. The Union ship, reconnaissance type, was mirroring the light right behind Charles' back, its silver shell casting the bright flecks into the observer's eyes.

He jumped from his seat when he saw Erik coming around the hill and quickly strode to him. Erik didn't have time to look at him properly before he was enveloped in a tight hug. He couldn't deny that living, calm warmth was spreading through his body at the contact. It made him believe for an instant that all these rough and ready days were worth it.

"I don't even know whether I can agree with you," smiled Charles, slightly moving back, but not far enough to let Erik's hand fall from his side. Upon closer inspection, there was a noticeable, large bruising forming on his forehead; and, furthermore, multiple scratches and a patch of raw skin decorated the left side of his face, but the pure joy was alive in his bright eyes. "Personally, I will abstain from cells and suppression collars for as long as possible. Besides, here, this wind positively hates me and I was constantly berating myself for not wearing the spacesuit while I've been waiting for you," added Charles earnestly and the corners of his mouth turned up again.

Erik huffed a laugh — he needed some humor here and there. He figured that Charles, in his eagerness, was not willing to allow Erik to speak, plucking his thoughts straight from his head. What was a point in conversing at all? The moment when it was still all right to take his hand back had passed, although Charles has lent him a nice excuse himself.

"I can imagine how weird it must sound to you, but will you let me stay close? Just a bit longer. I'm trying to convince myself that everything is real."

"Yes, of course."

"Um, Erik, I don't want to seem rude or ungrateful for what you did for me, but have you really forgotten about Sean?"

Erik cursed. He had absolutely forgotten about the brat, indeed. Presuming, that Charles' mild rebuke was nothing but an obligatory remark, bearing only the traces of light reprimand, he came to the conclusion that the brat was fine.

"Yes, he was with Alex and Armando, so Scott had no choice but to take him with them. He is safe."

"How come you know the knight?" asked Erik, a bit irritated, albeit completely irrationally, at the signs of such obvious familiarity.

"Scott used to be my student at Academia. Oh, not again. I am older than I look actually. As I have mentioned before, I have inherited some artificial genetic, yes, enhancement is not exactly my choice of word, but technically you are right. Where was I? Right, Summers brothers are from fine and honorary military clan, thus it was expected from Scott to earn the title so fast, taking into account his many talents and outstanding leadership skills."

Reluctant, Erik swallowed the next question, which was almost on the tip of his tongue and asked instead:

"How exactly did you get these?"

"You mean these scratches? Huh, that was a result of a diversionary tactic executed with minimal preparation, as far as I can judge," Charles' tone gained unusual dry and clinical quality. "Unfortunately, not without victims. Three of Scott's guards were injured. One died. Your servant, he pushed me down and covered me with his body right in time. Otherwise, I would have died as well, most likely."

And with that, Charles took two measured steps back. He nodded, soberly, to the hybrids covering behind Erik.

"Thank you for saving my life," and he bowed. Simply yet sophisticatedly conveying all things unsaid.

"What is going on in the Castle?" asked Erik after a moment of silence.

"Mayhem," sharply said Charles, turning to look in the direction of the former imperial residence. "Have you by chance disabled the sensing system, before you fled the Castle? Ah, I thought so. That's why nobody knows for sure what happened to you. They know about the vacuum bomb, which went off in your chambers, just after you have left, I assume."

"I suspected something like that."

Whoever planned this must have been in a wicked rush. Bad timing spoke volumes for itself. But what if they never intended to seriously hurt him or the ambassador in the first place? What if those two attacks were simple distractions, initially aimed to lull them into the forged sense of security.

"You must recall now, that your family used to be," Charles trailed off slowly and paused, pinched the bridge of his nose, "famous, or infamous for assassination attempts being arranged both by the royalty and to, well, get rid of the said royalty. The accident wouldn't have been so startling on its own, if Scott and, hence, the Union hadn't become tangled in this mess directly."

"That's quite a precedent," more weight has just pressed down on his shoulders. "Charles, I — "

"You are confused, I can fathom at least this," observed Charles with sadness. "You are feeling responsible for your homeland's fate. It's natural, you know." He guessed one thing out of two correctly. "Also, Erik, we are short on time. This ship is undetectable for sensors for the time being, but I strongly doubt that it's going to last."

"I have to say that you've got something right," the latent smile died on his lips before surfacing.

"I don't know everything, Erik. Once I claimed that I did, only that didn't end particularly well," replied Charles with a humorless laugh. "I told you before that I would respect your decision whatever it might be. You may say that's a hard lesson I have learned thanks to Max and —"

Perking up, Erik got ready to hear some piece of information, which would unveil the bits of his shambolic relationship with Charles in the past, though thinking of anything Eisenhardt has done or has been involved in like _his_, was by far the oddest.

"Master?"

Charles fell abruptly silent, interrupted by one of the hybrids.

"What do you want?" beyond a doubt, Erik's temper was this close to getting better of him.

"Someone is watching us, we think. We are not sure."

"Where are they?" he barked swiftly, turning around on his heels, motion rising a miniature whirlwind of sand. To Charles he quickly said:

"We are being watched! Can you —"

About this time, he heard some abnormal sizzling in the air. All of the sudden, the pressure increased tenfold: eardrums felt as if they would burst any second, all blood rushed to the head. And slowly, extremely slowly he watched through pained eyes as Charles' head tilted to the side and his body crumbled to the ground, while Erik made a desperate, but futile attempt to break his fall. His knees buckled under his own weight, which seemed unbearable right now.

Erik intercepted his fall by catching himself on the elbows. A simple action like that took everything he had, because his vision was swimming wildly, and his heart rate has apparently gone totally mad. Droplets of blood were dripping on white sand and he understood — that's me bleeding.

He wanted to call forth his powers, but could not focus, so he lashed out blindly at everything made of metal in the radius, — action born out of dread more than cool consideration. A groan left his lips and his vision has darkened around the edges. When his arms finally gave out he tried to twist his body so that he would fall on his side, but his muscles could be very well made of water for they were not obeying at all. On the sand, where his head now was lying on his clumsily bent arm, there was hardly an inch between his fingertips and Charles' bloodied face, yet he was not able to command his body anymore. So Erik was made to watch. And he watched and watched, submerging in the foul, cloggy well of despair, as Charles' blood was soaking into the sand until all his senses have gradually shut off. Eyesight being the last one.

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Everything hurt like hell.

Erik wanted to greet his teeth and clutch his pounding head in his hands at the same time. Or black out again. Yeah, he would certainly vote for blacking out again. A wave of strong nausea was rising up and down, at irregular intervals, acid was scorching his sore throat. Erik struggled to move and immediately affirmed that it was a mistake. The secret was in keeping his body immobile for now and not moving from the position he was currently in.

He opened his eyes a fraction and shut them tight that instant. Even the softest of light has burned oversensitive retinas and his eyes watered in response to stimulus. He spent the next couple of minutes trying to overcome pain and dizziness. Concentrate, repeated Erik to himself multiple times, free your mind. This is just your body reacting; you'll have to deal with it later. Eventually. He started counting the heart beats and at last, he reached that place he preferred to visit before falling asleep: the plane, where time flow obeyed no rules, where he was absolutely free. Erik fully enjoyed the brief moment of weightlessness and clarity before coaxing his consciousness back, into aching body.

This little exercise did the trick and helped him to dim the most insistent pains.

Erik sat up on the hard floor and looked around. His eyes fell on the familiar shape, crumbled on the floor by the only exit he could detect. The room was narrow, but long and Erik, propelled by hope, has immediately stumbled forward; his legs having been too weak and saying firm no to such urgency thus making him use the wall for support and as a result, upon reaching Charles, he collapsed to his knees with a relieved gasp.

He thought, he was ready for all that caked up blood and a thick layer of gore marring Charles' face and sticking to his hair, but the throbbing knot in his stomach still twisted brutally at the grim sight. Erik used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away the crusted blood from the other's lips and chin. Sand and dirt have joined together to make his task more difficult. Suddenly, nothing was more important than wiping Charles' face clean of vile blood.

What the heck am I doing — asked himself Erik after a while and laughed. Very loudly. Charles could be already dead, he didn't bother to check for any life signs and instead of doing it he is now obsessed with wiping his face. Stress surely did a number on him, pushing the pendulum of his dormant compulsivity into motion.

Erik willed himself to stop.

His following actions were measured and efficient: he checked the breathing and heartbeat, and frowned at the latter — too fast with bouts of unhealthy fluttering and such. Coming to the decision that Charles would rather choose being awake than unaware, he gently pressed on the tiny spot on the left side of his neck, the knowledge and skills alien to him, but familiar to Max were merging day by day.

Charles did better than he, either due to Erik's hands supporting him or he was too weak for any sort of excessive reaction. After a second try, he has managed to open his eyes and stare at Erik and darn but his eyes were expressive enough to say anything he wanted with a single glance.

"Listen to me, Charles. Don't try to speak or you'll get sick. I think, we've been attacked with a high pressure blast and you were standing closer to the epicenter, so you've got it hard."

"I almost," gasped Charles, and speaking palpably caused him pain, judging by his face, turning a curious shade of yellow.

"Don't try to speak. Hadn't I told you yet?" when Erik saw the collar around Charles' neck and it struck him. Slowly, he lifted his hand up and touched the cold metal on his own neck. Up till now, he, for some weird reason, hadn't felt it at all.

"My ears hurt," whispered Charles, carefully uttering words with chapped lips and wincing every time. "I almost can't hear you at all."

"I should have realized," Erik supplied his statement with a powerful curse.

"Erik, bracelet," Charles looked at him with agitation, clasped his hand with icy fingers and squeezed it very tightly. Erik was not sure what he meant, but his hand has circled Charles' wrist regardless: under his guidance he sneaked fingers underneath the sleeve of Charles' jacket and he felt for the metal bracelet. Erik has carefully traced the chains; he could not for the life of him understand what was so special about this piece of… And then, he smiled and unclasped it. The design was almost the same as the one Charles has used for demonstration before, but the heavier than average weight of metal and its absent heat-absorbing capacity hit upon an idea.

"Crush it," urged him Charles weakly. "Quickly."

Such as it was, the plea was not left unheard for Erik put the bracelet on the floor and stump on it with the heel of his boot, successfully turning it to dust, which, when he looked closer, started soaking through the floor in the most bizarre way. The nanotracker was going to send the signal to the knight, in this case Erik would be glad to welcome even him, — he just desperately hoped that the help would arrive in time.

By a fundamental law of some evil sort, at that moment, the only door to their compartment has opened and in came two androids, generic white figures without any markings, but armed with phasers. One pointed weapon at Erik and the mechanical voice asked him to follow the instructions. The first one was — go after the robot without any resistance.

Charles and he exchanged one last look, which didn't compensate for the great hardship, how far it had led them, momentarily reducing them to the powerless shades of men, but a situation like that, if shared, became a touch easier to tolerate.

And once again, Erik was escorted somewhere, onboard of huge ship, leaving Charles behind. Only now, no one was going to bow to him or offer their services, for he was obviously just a prisoner here. He has encountered no living soul, but drones and androids. The insides of the ship were painted in black, and the walls were scrubbed clean, shining even. Well, reasoned Erik with dark humor, — that certainly tells something about the owner or, well, nothing at all. The way was long enough that Erik has started questioning himself whether the androids got lost. He was sure they have turned here at least twice.

"Come in and wait," instructed him one android and Erik stepped in through the doors in the most opulent lair he's ever seen.

When he turned around to ask how long he was supposed to wait, the doors were already closed, leaving him one on one with the overload of red, violet and black velvet. The colours were dreamlike and surreal, especially comparing to the rest of the technical devices and mechanical servants; lord, but this room clashed greatly with his wildest anticipations.

The walls were draped with heavy curtains, revealing the holographic screens with moonlight scenery, and heavy tapestries dominating the walls added to the exaltation, working to make the space more phantasmagoric. If he were to come into this room under different circumstances, he would roll his eyes at the décor. Erik's heavy boots were literally mudding in the shag carpet the shade of blood. Darn, the thought nearly made him sick. He looked around, ignoring the set of gilded chairs around the marble table and went straight for the plush armchair next to one of the holographic windows.

On the way he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the tall mirror and cringed at the smears of dirt and dried blood on his face and not so clean maroon coat, which, after his adventures, took on quite a few stains. The strange thing was that his solar stone bracelets were still intact. It was only a mild consolation, in the light of all their misfortunes.

Erik settled himself in the chosen armchair and got ready to wait. Ill at ease, he waited for a standart hour by his estimation. No one came. He decided to entertain himself with watching the holographic scenery, but got bored pretty soon. In his head, he tried hard to recall all Eisenhardt's enemies and figure out the owner of the room. It would take a couple of days decided Erik sometime after the fortieth name. And those were only people he remembered. Then, he damned that task also and busied himself with looking for something that could be used as a weapon, cursing himself multiple times for not doing it sooner. Has a bit of pampered life and having supernatural powers gotten to him so fast? He felt, he was losing his basic survival skills. After he mentally counted the third hour, he has found a metal stem of the lamp — he had just broken down the latter, — which he deemed a sufficient weapon. He could always break a mirror and use the glass shards. In case he deals with a human, that is, the room itself offered many plain murder weapons.

After the forth hour, he discovered another hidden door and an hour later he laid aside all his tries to overcome the protection system.

So, they just needed to separate two of them — came to the sudden conclusion Erik when the stock of ideas has finally ran dry. It was the last one and it was horrendously marvelous in its simplicity. Elegant even. But why keep him in here?

The hidden door slid open and Erik braced himself, both internally relieved and anxious.

"Lord Eisenhardt, I apologize for delay. I got carried away with a new research subject," informed him the tall, dark haired man, who was wearing a red diamond upon his forehead.

Also, calling him lord was clearly a poor mockery.

"You can take your apology back," Erik scowled, because this imposing man invoked a conflicting feelings of disgust and fear in his counterpart and the combination didn't help to choose the proper tactic at all. "What do you want, Essex?"

"Mainly, your cooperation."

The vassal of the former Valkar Emperor House, Essex, having bought himself a baron title, when Erik's great grandfather decided to refill the budget in a roundabout way, was quietly sitting on his icy planet located on the outer reaches of Valkar system, and thus considered utterly ulterior, but, apparently he was fairing very well there. Basically, he should have died several times since then, but here he was, in all his velvet glory.

"Take off the collar and we shall speak," tried Erik as he took a step forward to the men.

"No," Essex smiled rather wickedly. "If I do it, this conversation will end up very soon due to your foul temper."

Sooner than you think — thought Erik darkly and stabbed the bastard in the chest with a metal stem, moving at top speed.

"But you never learn," drawled Essex and while Erik was struggling to catch his breath after a hard blow to the stomach, he didn't manage to block, Essex pulled the bloodied stem out with a snarl and the wound in his chest, it has just closed up, as if it was never there in the first place.

"I'm serious, Eisenhardt," he said, marching past Erik and not even sparing him a look. He sat in the armchair, opposite to the one, previously chosen by Erik and casually went on, "Meanwhile, I have a question. Why does Xavier insist on calling you Erik?"

"How do you —," Erik snapped his mouth shut as the shocking implications of the question shaped up.

"Take a sit."

Erik sat down on the edge of the seat.

"I wouldn't have asked if I knew for sure. But I want to trust you, so I will ask for the second time —"

"Someone has fiddled about in my head, implanting false memories, meaning false personality of course, but I got the real ones back with his help."

"This official version doesn't answer my question," said Essex and Erik felt a chill. The only person he has reluctantly told this half-truth was Mystique and she promised to fabricate the suitable lie explaining his long absence and possible memory gaps to the population. Charles also knew, naturally.

"That is the truth. The telepath says that the abrupt shift back is harmful, that's why," firmly insisted Erik.

"The truth as you've been told it," Essex added a pinch of disdain to his tone. "I thought better of you, Eisenhardt. So willing to believe the first mind-reader, who conveniently comes up with a suitable explanation? It's so unlike you. Correct me if I am wrong, but have you ever asked yourself a question — what if Xavier did it to you? He certainly had the motive, a noble one even, I'd wager, and the ability to do so. What if he tries to help you now because of the stings of remorse? You might have noticed that he is prone to such."

"Leave him out of this," got out Erik harshly, overcome by numbness on the inside.

"Why? Because you have feelings for him?"

He was reasonably afraid that he had paled: all blood, it seemed, had rushed south.

Essex looked at Erik with narrowed eyes.

"Do you realize that these feelings might not be real? Every impression, every single thought, every decision, every fantasy or idea may not belong to you. How does that sound?"

Erik was already so tensed up, everything he was told was striking close to home.

"You are a telepath yourself. You should know," there was a flicker of memory and he decided to use it.

"So what if I am?" he wasn't surprised that Erik knew his secret. "I actually quite admire Xavier's level of skill. For the record, it's only an intellectual fascination," smiled Essex. "I'm lucky to get someone from their line, all that curious genetic make-up is rather valuable, and such developed psionic gift is still a marvel even among majority of telepaths nowadays."

Erik was livid and shocked, but he spoke no word. And then he felt something, like a probing touch disturbing the veil covering his thoughts, which couldn't have passed unnoticed as he was ready for it.

"Don't even dream of getting into my head," he said levelly, putting up the walls, and noted with cold satisfaction the frown his words have caused.

"The rumors were not lying, you've been trained."

Essex hummed contemplatively.

"That means I need to bargain like in good old times. What motivation do you need to tell me where is your ancestral weapon? Torture? Humiliation? Or more power? Think about your prerogatives while you have some spare time. And think about your telepath, — in so far as I can tell, he has one of the major parts in the play. My androids will take you to your room. When I am done sorting the data, I will personally come to hear out your response."

When he was led back to his cell, Erik was temporarily in a state when he could neither see nor hear, all the way swirled like a blur in front of his eyes, as his mind got overwhelmed with realizations, lies, truths and fears. He could deny what he had heard, could try to push it back, to vaporize the sheer sprout of the idea. There was no use.

The doubt.

It was undeniably there.

But there was no one to answer his questions, because Charles was not in the room.

How convenient.

Suddenly, very tired, Erik sat on the floor and leaned on the wall. Finally the solitude came, yet he was not in the mood to mull over certain things. He was absentmindedly toying with a new memory fragment unknowingly provoked by Essex.

In this memory, he was looking at the Union Capital Planet, Creamenia, from the board of the cruiser: the deck under his feet was transparent, so it seemed as though he was wheeling on the orbit, floating in space over the green and blue sphere. His mother was talking to the hybrid guards to his left and her quiet voice was lost in the beeps and mechanical noise of the ship systems going through the final check point. Erik… Max watched her from the corner of his eye and immediately frowned when she caught his gaze.

"You shouldn't look so stern," she approached him, shushing the hybrids away. "Very likely the treaty has something to do with your morbid demeanor. Am I right?"

"As always."

She smiled heartily. The gemstone circlet in her styled up hair was gleaming in the artificial light of the deck. Then, she lapsed into an exceptionally solemn manner at once; her _appropriate_ smile vanished without a trace as she touched his shoulder.

"That bad?" she sighed deeply and he understood, resigned, that she also needed words of reassurance.

His mother, who will soon be called and forever remembered as the Last Empress, also wanted to be relived of the intolerable burden of making a difficult choice.

"For the benefit of our people, that's why you are here today," it was sad, bitter truth and, he perceived, it sounded somewhat final coming from him.

"I'm so lucky to have you," she whispered, brushing the imaginary dust from his shoulders, and before he could get alarmed because of sudden sentimentality in front of the crew, she moved away.

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Erik didn't plan to fall asleep, but he found out that his chin has fallen upon his chest, as he blinked, startled by the noise of the sliding door. His previous resolution notwithstanding, he decided that he could try to trick Essex into believing him, agree to his demand and pretend that Erik was ready to discuss the issue of the weapon, he had no fair idea where to start looking for, and then he would dispose of his jailor given the first opportunity. It was not impossible to kill someone who regenerates so fast per se, it just requires some well-applied creativity Erik certainly didn't lack.

He was about to start the pre-prepared small speech, when the androids dragged in Charles, and, having dropped him to the floor, flat on his back, strolled out together.

He stood up and made his way quietly to the telepath. Closer, he heard a slight cough. Charles' hands were clasped protectively over his stomach and his eyes were pensively shut, though Erik could tell that he was conscious. A lot of things have changed in his appearance, for his grey uniform was gone and he had a perfectly white shirt and pants on. The bruising and scratches were also gone from his face.

"Charles, what's wrong with you?"

Erik faltered for an instant, but crouched next to him anyway and after a closer look found no visible damage, he grew more determined. Who was lying who didn't matter, the whole leap of faith could wait: the person in need of his assistance has helped him earlier, so he shouldn't hesitate to offer some aid.

He touched Charles' elbow, lightly, and that was a very wise move, because Charles had reacted with a full-body shudder, as forceful as a seizure. Afraid that he would hurt himself, Erik pressed his shoulders down with his hands and straddled his hips, using his weight to anchor the other to the floor.

"Calm down! Charles, calm down!"

Darn, he might not be able to hear my voice, realized Erik.

Charles thrashed wildly, arching his body up and pushing at Erik with frantic hands, he had even head-butted him once and Erik silently cursed — his jaw was going to be really sore. He has almost threw him off, when Erik, thinking it would be the best for all parties involved, grabbed his neck and, by all odds, found the right pressure points to clog the movement. Erik was secretly glad that he failed to commit an error. Had he pressed a little harder, Charles would have died. Now there was absolutely no doubt that he wouldn't spend a day without deep regret and anguish if he ever let that happen. Maybe, Essex was right about that part, after all.

The position they were in, after having being introduced to his possible infatuation, turned extremely awkward in every regard for Erik. Body lax and incapable of moving, Charles, however, was panting, gasping for breath, until Erik got the clue and promptly got off him and hence stopped crashing his chest.

Strands of curling hair got plastered to Charles' forehead, sleek with cold sweat. Erik has cruelly suppressed the instant impulse to reach out and push the hair out of his eyes — Charles would not welcome his touch at the moment. Looking into Charles' blue eyes, dimmed with soundless tears, Erik felt unendurable pain, his previous stern and solemn train of thought seemed greatly insignificant. With a face full of wonder, panic and complex, imperceptible inner life, which was therefore unknown to Erik, Charles was gazing at him and beyond him at the same time. It took agonizingly long for the recognition to dawn.

"Erik?"

Was his name uttered in Charles' shaky voice enough to re-enter the different world? The world where his life and precious yet false memories meant something, where the promises were made and kept.

"Yes," he said and leaned forward to trace his fingers down the fine arch of Charles' neck. Partly to undo the paralyzing state he put his friend into and partly because he wanted to.

"I can hear you better now," said Charles as he shifted, subtly putting a distance between Erik and himself.

Erik grimaced. A few minutes ago Charles was so obviously out of his right mind. He didn't hear anything then.

Charles looked about uneasily as if searching for something that wasn't there. Tremors were running up and down his body, but he nevertheless found enough strength and self-will to prop himself on the elbows and sit up, leaning against the wall.

Erik, meanwhile, was getting more and more conscious of all that has, in all likelihood, happened to Charles. It finally sank in. And he used to think he had some tough stuff to deal with. While he was spending time in Essex's chambers, Charles was…

"What has happened to you? What did he do?" uttered Erik, trying to suppress his urgency, which grew intensified by the seconds.

Charles stirred at the question and looked at him, and, for a brief moment, there was unchallengeable clarity in his eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," he nodded, telling himself that he was to blame for coarseness and bluntness.

"Thank you, Erik."

Despite of an appearance of what Erik considered malleability, Charles, Erik was sure, preferred to digest his sufferings alone. Erik was determined to not let it slide like that.

"But you are not alone, Charles. Why do you bind yourself to all bad stuff that happens to you, but every time insist on intruding into mine, for instance. You mean well, I know."

Charles threw him an alarmed glance. He was wearing the expression of a person that had started to expect the worst and found out something even more terrible.

"You can't really say it… Just like that. This is ridiculous," he muttered weakly with a bit of a quip. "I wish I could tell whether this is a dream or not. Probably, yes. And do you know, my dream friend, it is unfair. Why?"

"Why?" echoed Erik carefully.

Thus far, he was genuinely worried about Charles' mental equilibrium.

"I was looking for you after you disappeared, no, not after, later, much later. After I have sobered up," he snorted, as something in that line both saddened and amused him. "Mentally, I mean. Mostly. So I decided to find you as a sort of atonement, but mostly for myself. Atonement for myself. Oh, how I resented you, yet I missed you," Charles' voice dropped and rose again. "Good heavens, I missed you. And then this horrible war has started. We didn't part in the best of ways, so I thought if I could just see you one more time, if I could ask you to help us, just this once —"

That was not meant for him. Erik was all ears, but Charles' feverish monologue, as it was, was meant for a different person.

"Charles," he interrupted, hoping to struggle through the word flood.

"Ah, I want to wake up already," complained Charles and shuddered. "It is so disconcerting. I can still feel it, cutting in," he hugged himself again.

"What?" asked Erik, in spite of his previous shortcomings on this ground.

"How is it called, give me a moment," he hummed wearily, having exhausted himself to the great extent. "No, it's no use. I can't remember the name of this, this thing. I'm getting so forgetful lately…"

"It's enough," calmly said Erik, getting further confirmed in his decision to kill Essex. "You can wake up now, Charles. Just close your eyes and count, say, to forty two."

"Forty two?" Charles repeated incredulously, but complied and closed his eyes. "Hm, I like it. It's very precise. Like you. You have always been very precise."

Without scarcely any delay, Erik has repeated his maneuver from earlier and cradling Charles' head with one hand lowered his upper body onto the floor.

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"This is your reward," said Essex, motioning to the blue screen. "As you can see the Union is falling apart. In a grand scheme, Herlir is doing it by the book: intimidation, exhaustion, extermination, annihilation and subversion are, or, will be woven together. It is long overdue, as the system is rotting from the inside and its downfall was only a question of time."

The holographic map we was showing Erik, displayed the planet systems of the Union, already war-struck. Erik's quick calculations proved that Essex was basically correct, but in order to advance his understanding Erik needed more data. The first objective here was not the extermination of the enemy's fighting potential through decisive battles, like Erik's ancestors did in the past possessing superior war power, but Herlir rather concentrated on delivering the stinging blows, aiming at major trading centers, in order to sap the economic vitality. He remembered Diodor and this recollection led him to another issue. What kind of technology was that? He has neither read nor heard of such possibility before. The adversary must have used this technology for the first time then. Although, if it lets the battle ships jump through portals, thus appearing undetected and taking over by sheer surprise, why not use it to attack the Creamenia directly. He could only presume that is was either not perfected enough, or was limited to the certain distances.

"I see that got your attention."

Erik shot Essex a wry look.

"I'm delighted by the presentation but what has it to do with me? Namely, what do I get out of giving up the means of ultimate destruction?"

"You survive by siding with the potential winner," he said noncommittally. "Your native system is also severing its ties with the Union right now. It's only a beginning."

"That is as much as to tell me that someday, somehow I will get my native system back under control, which I can do even without the bunch of opportunists with no name and birthright."

"Nothing will stop these so-called opportunists," said Essex neutrally. "I'm beginning to be weary of fruitlessly arguing with you. I think you are wasting my time by dragging this on purpose."

"I am not," seethed Erik, playing the resentful and vindictive lord card to impart the perception of his emotional involvement. "I'd rather take charge of the military operations myself, to destroy them with my own hands."

"This can be arranged if you prove your credibility."

This later comment was unnecessary and Erik felt his hackles raising, potentially magnifying the building-up anger.

"You can stay in here as my guest," Essex turned to leave the velvet room as Erik has called it in his head.

Too soon.

"Drop this farce, Essex. I'm not your guest while I'm wearing this," he pointed to the collar and shook his head, scarcely stifling growing worries from surfacing up. "And I need to talk to the telepath."

"Haven't you had a chat a few hours ago?"

"He was not in the state for a chat. I had to knock him out."

"So?" bastard's pale face was showing the signs of dry amusement again. "I'll tell you what: he was physically fine, as far as I am concerned, and if you were not able to draw truth out of him, while I generously offered you a chance, that is not my business."

"I thought we have made a deal," hastily said Erik, as his mind reeled from the shock of hearing that.

"And I thought I would rather let him live for a while," cut him off Essex. "But, I presume,—"

Erik was not able to continue listening to it anymore. Instead of words, he's heard only white noise, he'd never truly felt his helplessness until that moment.

Essex sidestepped Erik's wild dash at him easily, and a hasty stumble back saved Erik from being knocked down to the floor. His body remembered the force of that blow, but this time, he had no intention to flee, Erik wanted to kill. There was hardly any height or weight difference between him and his opponent and Erik decided to use it to his own advantage. He would be a fool not to fight with everything he had and Erik realized it as he feinted and dodged a jab, and, then a swift blow to his side knocked him to his knees, he used the momentum to grab Essex and knock out his kneecup. He jumped to his feet that instant, confident that he could get an upper hand this time, and as he pivoted on one led and kicked Essex in the chest he heard a corresponding grunt and a crack.

But what would have killed or gravely wounded an ordinary human had left Essex only slightly winded. Theoretically speaking, he should be on the floor, coughing up blood from punctured lungs.

Launching at him again, with dangerous self-abandon, Erik targeted his head this time, but as his arm had been caught in a lock, Erik understood his mistake a fraction too late. He's got a powerful punch in the stomach and when Essex dragged his elbow up, keeping his torso immobile, Erik felt-heard a snap. His dislocated shoulder was burning, but Erik managed, through the flare of white pain, to strike back, landing a solid facer.

The pain throbbing in his stomach and shoulder was excruciating, Erik already tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

Finish him off. Quickly.

Thus, Erik summoned his resolve, twisted his body to the side and got Essex into a head lock, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, now simply blinding. He groaned, tightening his hold on the man's neck and applying every ounce of strength he had.

When he heard a rewarding snap, his ears were already ringing and he distinctly felt a warm trickle down the corner of his lips. Erik swallowed a mouthful of blood and nearly coughed it all back, but knowing that he didn't have much time, he struggled to get to his feet faster, pushing the heavy body to the side.

His eyes fell on the tall mirror and Erik, urged by despair and determination, got a very bright idea. He grabbed one of the gilded chairs and threw it and the following singing of broken glass was the best music to his ears.

He bent to pick up the long shard, which looked like a curved blade, deeming it sufficient for the task he had in mind. The shard had instantly nicked his palm, but the pain was nothing in comparison with the dull throbbing in his stomach. Darn, that was bad.

A heavy hand pressed down on his aching shoulder and Erik flinched, tried to scramble away, but his head got slammed into the floor, hardly an inch away from bigger shards, threatening to gorge his eyes out. Still, he felt something sharp going through, tiny mirror fragments impaling themselves into his skin.

"It's over, Eisenhardt."

Essex was holding the glass shard, which he knocked away from Erik's hand against his neck, lightly pressing the edge, though enough to draw some blood. He pulled both Erik's arms up and twisted them painfully behind his back.

"I admit it was sort of entertaining for a moment," the disdain in his chiding tone has almost made Erik scream out in pain and frustration, even though it would mean losing the last bits of his dignity in front of this monster. He would never allow himself to fall that low. Never.

"You will pay for this. Especially if you touch Charles again," his voice was coming out too pathetically rasping to his liking.

If only the knight was not that slow on the uptake. Lord, let him get here in time to save Charles, at least.

"Well, I am not going to kill him in that case," Essex told Erik. "You will."

"What are you —," Erik had to bit on his tongue to keep in the groan.

There was no way. Absolutely no way he could, would do it.

"You will see. And after you kill Xavier you will tell me everything I want to know."

All the profanities ready to be spilled died, as soon as Erik took in the deadly adamant undertone. Stealing a look at the mess of mirror shards, lying on the ground, he saw the distorted, ugly image of that spiteful man reflected back at him and he could swear that there was a red glint in his eyes.

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	5. The Knowing

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Little Erik suspected that it will come to this.

"I found them on one of asteroids on the Outer Rim. Pure luck, indeed." Essex pushed him further into the air locked section of his laboratory, which was separated from the rest of the space by thick, yet transparent layer of solid armor glass. "They have developed quite an appetite for any form of organic life. See for yourself."

Erik landed on his knees, not able to use his hands, cuffed behind his back, for balancing his body. He struggled with bouts of nausea and sickly vertigo, while the throbbing pain in his stomach felt as if someone was pushing in a blunt knife and then turning it with sadistic impromptness. In a half-daze he lifted his head to look at the large, vertical capsule erected on the top of the pyramidal construction in the center of the room.

"I haven't come up with a name yet," continued his explanation Essex, maintaining the proper tone of the museum guide, "There was no time to spare from more important matters, but these wonderful creatures must not be remained unnamed."

In front of Erik's eyes, on the bottom of the capsule, there was the pulsing, moving knot, and a closer inspection revealed that it was nothing more but a tangle of chalky worm-like creatures, violently convulsing as though they have been electrocuted. Suddenly, one of them became separated from the rest and threw itself on the glass. Had Erik more strength left he would have recoiled in disgust, for the creature was even more repugnant than expected: its white, segmented, meaty body was as thick as a baby's little finger, coated in some sort of phlegm, on top of that, a tiny eyeless head had boasted an unnaturally wide mouth, which was sucking on the glass of the container, so Erik could see right into its depth. He threw up that instant and was this close from planting his face in the remains of his stomach's contents. It was a miracle that he's fallen on his side instead and from his position on the floor he could still make out Essex, who approached the capsule from the other side.

"You are disgusting," informed him the man and tapped the capsule from his side. "Here they are, reacting to the tiniest source of warmth and trying to attack it. The adaptation power and reaction speed are simply amazing. It's a pity that Xavier is not here yet, he would have appreciated them more, but he will join us soon anyway. They have gnawed one of my human assistants to the bone: she was stupid enough to lower her visor, when she forgot to seal the container properly. That's how I found out that nitrogen in the atmosphere makes them extremely hungry and aggressive."

Hearing it, Erik tried to scramble, as fast as he could, from the pyramid. Although, he could not get far, seeing as the room was hardly five meters in diameter and the only way out was sealed by Essex.

"How long does it take to put on a space suit?" asked Essex.

"Go to hell," spat Erik in response, breaking into cold sweat. He could already see the turn of affairs, could clearly see the terrible spectacle Essex was going to set up.

"Depends on the model, of course, — would be the right answer, Eisenhardt. I'll give you five minutes total and then I'm letting them out," Essex came up to him and stared into Erik's eyes. "I don't like it. You are obviously scared and desperate, but why aren't you breaking down yet? If Xavier is immediately seeking shelter in the mazes of his mind, naturally, and it is anticipated from the born telepath, where are you trying to hide? What do you depend upon?"

Tuning off that hateful voice, Erik has not missed the sound of the door opening. He immediately twisted his neck back, and made one more, this time successful attempt, to hoist himself on his knees at least.

The android has led in sickly-looking Charles, also handcuffed. Charles was unsteady on his feet, but his eyes seemed more conscious this time, as he glared fiercely at their tormentor and when he locked eyes with Erik, he has only thinned his lips, startlingly red against his pale skin, and hasn't reacted otherwise. For Erik it was bad news, because Charles, who was thinking he was hallucinating, was easier to coax into compliance and Charles, who regained his senses, was a stubborn force to be reckoned with. The second android came in and brought a full space suit, one of the old models used by miners; it lacked agility but was rather durable in comparison to others. Only one space suit, of course.

Essex ordered one of the androids to take off the handcuffs. Erik's shoulder jolted at the change of posture — he inhaled sharply, and finally managed to get to his feet. Charles, freed in the same fashion, has immediately stumbled to him, wordlessly offering Erik his arm for support.

"Oh my, your face," he choked out, and nonetheless he didn't look any better in Erik's opinion. Though his face did feel as if thoroughly worked with a grater from one side.

"Use your time wisely."

Charles darted his gaze to the capsule, to one space suit and then to Essex, the electric blue in his eyes enkindling all suppressed emotions, as he, without a doubt, got the grasp of the situation with amazing speed. Though he said nothing at all.

"Charles," Erik said quickly, "help me to set a shoulder, now."

"Lean on me."

Charles didn't even let him experience much pain as he fit in the joint, or was it general numbness coming to his aid, Erik had no idea. But if he could still stretch out his stamina, his body has not given up completely, that was not bad, considering.

Charles pulled back.

"I'll fetch the space suit," he said and Erik sighed inwardly.

When Charles dragged the space suit to him Erik cut to the chase:

"Okay, now put it on."

"You must be joking," Charles hissed angrily. His grip on the offending suit tightened.

"I am not. You need some arguments. All right. Here they are: in terms of combat training I'm way ahead of you and you can't deny it, you may be an incredible pilot, but, Charles, you are not a fighter —"

"Why are you even pulling this bluff?" deeply hurt, he, however, stood his ground. "You are the one injured here."

"And yet I can still knock you out and get you into the suit regardless," sternly said Erik. "I stand a chance where you don't," he produced a long shard of glass from the fold of his sleeve and put it back for now. "It's not much, but it's at least something."

"I will not watch you dying, Erik. Please, don't do this."

"I'm not planning to die."

For an instant Erik thought that Charles would punch him.

"He has decided to kill me in any case. Did you honestly believe that I wouldn't figure it out? I will never let him get into my mind, therefore he can either drive me mad trying or get rid of me. You, Erik, you are the one indispensable, I, on the other hand, am not."

Three minutes left and this heated argument will get them both dead. He should have put Charles right out the instant Essex has left them alone.

"Erik, I'm so sorry that I have dragged you into this," suddenly said Charles, blinking back tears. He rubbed his eyes with clenched fists, in a motion so intimately childlike, hardly suitable for a man of his caliber, yet so darn fitting.

"Don't you dare apologize! That planet was worse than prison! You have saved me from losing myself. Do you understand how much that means? Charles, I have a chance and I will be damned if I don't use it. All I want you to do is to trust me."

The purpose was growing out of that hypothetical chance he claimed he had. Then, the understanding came, overflowing his heart, as the idea emerged — something Erik truly wanted… he always wanted to get to know this man so much: the one who made him feel all the range of emotions he didn't know he could feel, he didn't know he wanted to feel, the one who unknowingly challenged him and fought with him and soothed him in a minute. And there was no better way of getting to know someone really deeply over than this.

Erik cupped Charles' face and pressed their lips together, thinking — this is the worst timing ever.

It was really, really brief and chaste. Lasted a wonderful split second.

"You, Erik…You have the worst timing ever," prudently said Charles as soon as Erik backed away and he, fairly delirious with his own stupidly bold move and wild glee, was dangerously close to repeating it again, never mind that they were on the brink of the disaster waiting to happen.

"One minute and a half, Charles."

"You're a very cruel person, making me do it," he bent down to pick up the suit and started putting it on with shaking hands. "I will share your fate either way, you know."

Erik joined in. He helped Charles by tightening the straps on the intersections, absently wondering whether Essex was watching and what did he think of the new development. Or, maybe, he has known where it would lead to from the very beginning.

Before shutting down the visor, Charles clumsily grabbed his hand.

"I don't know what to say in such situation, but, Erik, Max, I'm glad that I met you both. Should anything happen to us, I —"

"Charles, get the damn visor down right now," Erik deadpanned, nudging him. "This is not the end."

Fifteen seconds left.

Unexpected vibration under his feet got Erik to take his mind off the time count. The ship began rumbling, probably in overdrive, and Erik couldn't but hope that their rescue was close. Then, it shook terribly, as if hit with an impulse blast and Erik teetered, planted his feet on the floor and bent his knees. Charles surprised him though: he darted to the capsule with chalky warms, and Erik saw, too late, that it has already started tilting. Charles has managed to intercept its fall: the capsule was now firmly clasped in his hands, as he cradled it against his chest. The worms inside went positively crazy, but armed glass was holding for now.

The pyramidal structure in the middle suddenly opened up, making Charles scoot away. Their time was up! Three long steps separated him from Charles, and as Erik kneeled next to him, and after he saw Charles' scrunched up face through the visor, he realized that his relief was short-lived. The bottom of the capsule was not protected by glass and Charles was hugging it so close not out of fear that it would break, it was not just an ordinary glass after all, but because the bottom lid was absent and he prevented the parasites from escaping by pressing his gloved palm to the hole.

Erik shouldn't have diminished Charles' skills like he had done, because Charles was quite adept at thinking on his feet, Erik should have noticed it already.

It was their luck, that Charles was facing the door all the time. One instant he was sitting on the floor and next moment he pulled Erik closer with one hand and covered him with his body, all the while keeping the capsule squeezed between them. Erik's head collided with the floor and he, shell-shocked, heard the unmistakable sizzling of the phaser going off. Erik wasted no time, as he pushed Charles aside, silently apologizing, and jumped to his feet and to the side, barely evading the blast android aimed at him.

Then, the said android suddenly disintegrated in the flare of red, seemingly from nowhere.

The knight stood in the doorway, in full body armor, but, strangely enough, without a helmet.

Why so soon — wanted to ask Erik, but, bit back the harsh words, and, instead hastened to Charles. He was lying on his back, still clutching the capsule. Charles' visor was practically covered with perspiration from the inside, his warm breath cooling on glass.

"Do you need help?" asked the knight, kneeling near them.

Someone else came in too, only Erik didn't turn to the newcomers, focused entirely on Charles.

"Can you take this capsule from Charles? Don't let them escape. They will eat you alive otherwise."

"Right," with Erik's assistance he carefully took the capsule from Charles' grip, whose arms immediately went limp, dropping to the sides.

He couldn't form any coherent thoughts. Erik's heart was racing frantically, shrinking and swelling, the tidal waves of fear washed over him, instead of vanishing. So strange and uncharacteristic was Charles' lack of response that, the knight, having seen it too, barked out an order and someone else appeared in Erik's view, helping him to get the helmet off.

Under the influence of great mental distress, Erik was, once again, caught in the web of cold detachment. When the helmet finally came off, it revealed Charles' deathly white face, with blood flowing freely down his chin from his mouth, bubbling on his lips, — and Erik felt nothing at all. Charles' unnatural stillness piled loads of heaviness atop his chest as the aftershock and dumb hesitation has finally arrived, rigid and spiky like thorns. Someone pulled him up to his feet, rather roughly, yet Erik paid no heed, the words spoken to him were meaningless, ugly sounds penetrating the calming silence inside his head. Then, there was a cold press to his neck — liquid fire made his blood boil, that was an injection Erik's mind supplied, and the knight's voice tore through the muffled barrier:

"Snap out of it, Eisenhardt!"

"Don't order me around," he snapped back automatically.

"He is going to be fine," said the knight to his left.

And Erik's thoughts started beating against the bars inside the cage of his mind: who was he addressing, who did he mean, did he mean Charles, was Charles going to be okay.

"Look here, Eisenhardt. Do you want me to get rid of the collar? We need more manpower for successful retreat, so I want to count on you as well."

Erik was slowly coming to his senses as the things his mind has tried to drive out came rushing back in. Yet, the silent brush of death upon his very soul had a great impact, apparently. And Charles.

"Charles," Erik would have bolted ahead, but the knight was holding his shoulder in a steel grip.

So he was really wounded then, when he pushed Erik down and covered him. Erik felt sick. There were two people, wearing the same full body armor like the knight, obscuring the body on the floor from his eager eyes.

"You will only get in the way. Medics will stabilize him in a minute, I hope," he cursed under his breath. "I wish, we had found you sooner, but the signal was jammed."

"Take it off. Now."

"All right, but you must stay still, if you want me to get this damn thing off you."

Before Erik could fully comprehend his words, there was a tiny blast of red light, and the collar was torn in two, — edges lightly scorching Erik's neck. The red light was dying in the knight eyes, slowly turning brown again. Erik shot him the coldest look he could muster at the moment and considered any _thanks yous_ needless — what for, the crazy knight has nearly taken off his head.

It was like breathing anew, uplifting his spirit skyhigh, for his thirst for power was considerable, making Erik smitten with large astonishment. How could he have lived without it before? Erik molded the remains of the collar into the sphere and let it hover over his shoulder, just to test it out, while his veins were filled with thirst for blood; he was coming to understand the wish to hurt somebody and anticipated the trill. There were so many things he could do to Essex now, his imagination has offered him a picture after a picture, tempting him, luring him and reassuring him that justice must be executed by his hand, that he must do it in order not to let the evil prevail.

"Where is Essex?" he demanded to know, and, the knight, saying something to the woman, who has just come right through the wall in front of Erik's eyes, turned to him with a light scowl.

"Kitty says he is on the lower deck according to the sensor. The androids are between us and him, so, I assume, he's stalling time and is going to escape," he looked back, deep furrows marked his forehead, "getting our injured to safety is my priority."

"Fine, I'll go get him myself."

"This is not a sanctioned operation, Eisenhardt," exploded the knight. "And who do you think you are —"

"Excuse me, but, I believe, I can phase the person with the ball through, right to the lower deck," intruded Kitty and met their dubious looks with a crooked smile. "That was just a suggestion."

She called forth the holographic monitor on her wristband and pointed to the accumulation of the red dots.

"He's right under our feet now."

"Essex is conspiring against the Union during wartime, thus, he aids the enemy. You can trust my word, that kidnapping or torture is not his only past time," added Erik gravely.

The knight muttered something along the lines — _she is going to kill me_. Kitty rolled her eyes at him, but quickly schooled her features into the mask of polite attention, when he looked up.

"We are going together. Can you take two of us down with you?"

"Sure," she nodded and her pony tail also swished in agreement.

Erik didn't even have time to blink before he was falling down through the floor, the velvet room, one more floor and finally landed on his feet in the machine compartment.

The red blast, courtesy of the knight, has cut the first line of droids into half. Erik has simply taken every moving metal body he could sense apart, after the initial shock of the fall had passed.

But, they were too late.

Essex was nowhere to be seen.

In the center of the machine compartment there was a platform though: it was covered in knots of wires and cables, and above the platform, parallel to it, there was the flat black disc hanging in the air. The blackness inside it was pulsing and dilating, darkness spreading like rings in water, growing bigger and bigger and devouring the space.

.

.

.

.

The fortress was huge, so Charles and he were residing in the spare quarters, temporarily turned into hospital slash guest house, because Charles, it appeared, has known plenty people onboard and these people came to see him as soon as his condition improved a bit. Erik has already met Anna Marie, the blond and his friend were introduced to him as Summers junior, that troublesome brother, and Armando Munoz, both ensigns without a ship, and, well, Sean, who, upon hearing what happened to Charles, has burst into hysterical wailing for Erik was not your choice of the person to deliver bad news to the already traumatized kid. There were others, of course, but Erik didn't bother with memorizing all the names.

This late they were finally alone and though Erik knew that he had to go back to his bedroom, he was taking his time.

Spheres emitted faint sapphire light, which, according to medics, helped people to heal not only physically but mentally as well. Erik used to think that he liked all shades of blue: Mystique was quite a beautiful woman, despite her, well, tough disposition, his mother's color of choice was often royal blue instead of the traditional shades of red or purple, and Charles' eyes were blue, amazingly so. This room, however, was wrong.

_I think, you are unjust._

Charles smiled at Erik with his eyes alone, as speaking aloud for extended periods of time was still taking a toll on him; everything was taking a toll on him, to be honest. A week ago he had been in a condition people die of on the spot, as the phaser blast usually turns muscles, bones and inner organs into the terrible gory mash, or just rips off body parts completely. Charles has been shot in the back, so the damage to his spinal cord was added to the mix, rendering him almost fully immobile for four solid weeks at least, such was the best prognosis.

_To tell the truth, I was waiting till they leave us alone. Not that I don't appreciate everyone's concern and attention, but, sometimes it becomes a touch taxing. Don't tell anyone_.

"Are you tired? Do you want me to leave?"

Erik trained himself to recognize the strain lines on the other's face or, at times, in his mental voice, but he could have missed something.

Charles glared at him, and then closed his eyes, as though giving up.

_You don't even listen to me, Erik. You are listening to the voice of your guilt now. Unfortunately, I can't shout it down._

"How can you say that? At first, I didn't even notice that you were injured, so forgive me that I feel responsible," exclaimed Erik, forlorn and sorely drained.

Charles was resting so composedly in his hospital bed, so calmly, despite the pain and the nauseating helplessness he must be feeling. Erik's mind was sinking in the shadow made of darkness and confusion when he tried to put himself into Charles' shoes.

_I say it, because it's true. And, yes, Erik, it bloody hurts. A lot. Every single hour I repeat to myself again and again that soon I will get better, soon I will be sitting up on my own, soon I will be walking without aid. Recovery is never easy, but you said yourself that I'm not alone. _

"You remember that?"

_I do. It was a rather embarrassing episode, I couldn't think clearly due to, well, many reasons._

Erik took advantage of the pause and carefully examined Charles' expression, looking for any residual signs of the inflicted torment. His unabashed staring has hardly promised any secrecy, especially in front of the telepath. Charles looked fine, well, as fine as a badly wounded person might hope to look. He was noticeably thinner, as if he could afford losing more weight at all, and his skin seemed fairly translucent, accentuating dark shadows around his eyes.

"You are going to get better in no time," stated Erik and that unsealed Charles' smile again.

_Speaking of getting better, Erik, can you do me a favor? _

"I suppose, I can," he slowly said as his suspiciousness has suddenly returned with renewed force. "What kind of favor do you have in mind?"

_I need help getting to my ship. It's here, in the hangar. You may remember that Scott has lent me one of his, which got destroyed._

"Pray, tell me why you need to go all the way down to the hangar in your state?"

_The ship is calling._

"In a couple of days, maybe," said Erik weightily, trying to wrap his brain around the concept of the archaic telepathic ship communicating with Charles. "Right now you are too weak. It's extremely unreasonable."

"Please," Charles begged softly, with a sufficiently remarkable pleading look.

Somehow, Erik has found himself assisting Charles to the hangar, that is to say watching over his hover-chair and unlocking the doors, which he probably shouldn't have touched as his stay in the Union fortress was barely tolerated at all. He knew that they have been calling him renegade behind his back, but people were not stupid enough to do more than that: his reputation obviously preventing them from crossing some invisible line between neutral politeness and open hostility. And Charles had warned him about it long ago.

People passed them without batting an eyelid at two trespassers. Erik, in his turn, took care of sensors and monitoring system, just a short electromagnetic pulse was enough to cause some slight jamming or a short deadlock, which might be attributed to the casual malfunction, which was not something unusual, because of tricky space radiation. Thus, together they have made quite a brilliant infiltration team according to Charles.

Charles' ship was stationed in line with Union fighters in need of maintenance, so the lights were dimmed in that section of the hangar. Inside, the ship didn't change a bit, everything preserved like Erik remembered — every panel and door and every cabin already firmly etched into his mind. Charles brightened up immediately when they moved in and that was quite a sight Erik took great comfort in.

They stopped before the drive and looked at each other.

_Erik, _he heard a whisper, a mental hint, and took Charles' hand. Faint tremors were going through the limb and Erik's forehead creased, as a shared wave of intangible images appeared and vanished so quickly that he was not able to discern anything at all, only the feeble echo of need.

"I will not risk moving you, don't even ask," and don't pout at me added Erik silently.

"Why? You've been very helpful so far," hummed Charles, raising an eyebrow at him with more grace than he should be able to muster. "And I don't pout. I, hmm, we can try to do it the following way, if you want, of course. I can't lean forward yet, so you can touch it for me, and, well, you understand the rest."

"Am I looking forward to act as your living link chain to your weird ship? Let me think."

_It's all right if you don't want to. I already feel better, so thank you very much for your understanding._

His hand started slipping from Erik's fingers, but he tightened the grip.

"Charles, I will do it," he reached for the metal lump and a sparkle of blue has run through it at the touch, then another one and one more, until the blue sheen enveloped the surface, lightly warming up, feeding him with revitalizing energy and impressions too complicated for his brain to process. His head started spinning from the sheer uncontrollable speed, as that invisible force has speared all his senses at once.

Charles, very likely, picking up more than that, gasped, lightly parted his lips, momentarily lost to the physical world.

After a sufficient pause, Erik got curious:

"Is it…"

"Good? Yes, it is," he said aloud, slurring his words a little."Unbelievable. And very pragmatic, I'd say."

Sensing Erik's dubiousness Charles laughed.

He truly laughed, free and full of keen joy, resonating everywhere on the deck and Erik felt his resulting smile before he realized what was going on.

Charles clutched his arm in both hands and slowly forced himself upright, swaying on his feet when they touched the floor and gripping Erik's arm very firmly, he stood up, nevertheless. And Erik, completely astonished, could only stand there, not letting go of both the drive and Charles, unsure what he was supposed to do.

"Give me a moment, I'll formulate it for you, I must find my words," explained Charles in a happy rush, breathless.

"Maybe, you should sit down," offered Erik cautiously, feeling like a mood-killer, because all that sparkling excitement didn't leave him unaffected as well, and Charles, Charles was literally shining from the inside, radiating inexplicable light. The rest of the world was receding into the background around him.

"Maybe, you are right," agreed Charles, which was very sensible of him, and tugged Erik down on the pilot seat, which remolded itself in a wider shape, allowing two people to share it in comfortable closeness. "Now I finally realized what was needed from me," he beamed, slowed down for Erik's sake. "I found this ship during the expedition to Orin three years ago. I believe, you have heard about the planet, which fell victim to terraforming gone wrong, after the expansion beyond the Outer Rim. You may say, I was forced into participating by my colleague and some close friends. And though I have never pursued the science of terraforming myself, the endeavor was rather enjoyable, well, before the war has begun and the project was put on hold," Charles waited for his nod and then continued. "So, the news brought me down as you can imagine, I have been reckless that last day, neglected checking the compression fluctuation and thus didn't manage to return back on orbit in time, was caught up in the earthquake."

Erik was getting visuals to supply the story, flickering fast, but not too fast this time. He saw the ground under his feet splitting, felt the terrifying rumbling of the tortured planet, was falling into the abyss, darkness and clogging dust swallowing him. The swirl of memories unfolded further and he saw it, lying on the ground, nursing the broken arm, he saw it through the large gap in the red rock, under the single ray of sunlight from high above.

"My touch gave it life, and the sole purpose of this ship, this technology, is to remain active through the pilot, thus it has to protect its pilot. I figured, it was accumulating my life force for a while and gave it back when my life itself was threatened, boosted the regeneration, but, I reckon, it comes with a price. Please, never mind my ecstatic state, Erik, I already feel the beginning of the lethargy approaching. Good heavens, I have never felt so empty," his voice died down, worn thin inside out, as the light in him submerged, almost vanishing without a trace. "It feels like a nasty hangover. But I know that you have a question."

"Not exactly a question. I was thinking about it recently. You have seen it all: in my mind, in Eisenhardt's mind, I suppose. I want to get to know you too. I'm tired of putting bits and pieces together. It's only fair."

"I could," Charles lifted his fingers to his temple, hesitating.

"No, not like this. Out of all advantages of your ability, this is not something I want you to use. Let's do it in the old-fashioned way, like people without psychic gifts do it every day, but later," he stood up and offered Charles his hand. "Now, come, you need to lie down."

"You are right," Charles took the offered hand and slowly stood up too, slightly unbalanced; eyes half-shut, he leaned in and planted the kiss at the corner of Erik's mouth, sending a tendril of uncertainty along.

"Please, tell me that I have read it correctly," he muttered after a beat and his smile faded when Erik failed to react immediately.

Fulfilled and internally astounded, Erik didn't answer in words, though he brought Charles closer, folded one arm around his waist and cradled Charles' head to his shoulder, firmly secured, as Charles breathed out in relief and hugged him back.

.

.

.

.

Mystique was listening to him quietly while Erik was giving her a brief account of his encounter with Essex, adding more grim colors to the story where necessary, not to invoke sympathy, of course, but to strengthen the necessary emotional effect.

"I will notify people, and send someone to investigate his laboratories," she said at last. "What took you so long? Your habit to go missing and then appear out of nowhere is not going to work in your favor."

Erik paid no attention to the jab, as crude as it was.

"Tell me," he said, "what did they promise you? This is the secured private channel, and I have to know the truth."

She gave a forced smile.

"The sovereign domain for my race," Mystique replied after a silence. "Something you have promised me long ago and have forgotten about."

Already burdened under a load of promises, old and new, Erik was strongly tempted to dump it all for good. One lifetime is not enough to sort out this maddening mess. Also, he doubted that sovereignty would be enough for this woman, seemingly engaged in the never ending battle with the entire world.

"I didn't know that Essex was swaying to their side, I swear. But the separation is necessary. Valkar may be the next target for all you know."

Erik could understand her motives very well, but that explosion could have killed Charles, it could have killed the ambassador and then the established full blockade would have made them rot from the inside, slowly but surely. He was severely disturbed by the need for retribution, contradicting his previous intent to remain calm and level-headed, lest Mystique should refuse to cooperate. He must persuade himself that she acted with good intentions.

"Look here, we can't go on like we used to, as well. The events of the past few centuries have proved it. Valkar Empire was set up on its own specific conditions, its own preconceptions, had definite prospects of development it had achieved. There is not necessarily such dire need in separation right now; rather, our economic and political structure requires modification."

"You sound like one of these slobs from the Council, Max," she shook her head, regarding him with observant yellow eyes.

"I need to know that I can count on you," he braced his hands on the desk, and leaned back. "They are ruining the general infrastructure of our system regardless, because the link to the Union will still be the link to the outer world. What can they really promise aside from destruction and annihilation of our ancestral heirloom?"

"Destruction is not something you shy away from. As a rule. Sometimes it is necessary."

"Well, I have reconsidered."

"I can't believe how swiftly you have fallen under the spell."

Before he knew it, Erik was digging his fingers deep into the metal surface of the desk.

"Get used to it quickly, then," there was no bite in his tone this time for he refused to deny any implications that he's been influenced or controlled and fought his urge to snap. Actually, Erik was under the impression that she has been doing it on purpose.

After a few more minutes they cut short the conversation and Erik let his head drop back as he ran his fingers through his hair, noting, for the first time in months, that it has grown too long.

He swept a glance around the study he was given. Its minimalistic furnishing was rather appealing to him earlier, but now he longed for a couch.

Nevertheless, he left the room, and went straight for the elevator, savoring the moment of silence, his footsteps lost in the soothing dimness inside the house.

"Oh, here you are," said someone behind his back, "I apologize if I startled you."

"You didn't," lied Erik with blank face, when that young woman from earlier, the one going through walls, fell into step with him.

"Scott told me to give you this," she handed him a tiny black box. "We haven't been introduced yet, lord Eisenhardt. I didn't recognize you immediately that time. I'm Katherine Pryde, by the way, but Katherine is too formal, that's why you can call me Kitty."

"You stayed?"

"You probably thought I was with the military, but I was just assisting Scott per his request," she frowned, "Dimensional physics is totally my favorite subject, so I will be helping with the portal research here from now on. I've heard that you and Professor Xavier are friends. I'm glad that he is alright."

"Yes, well, thank you," he slowly said, thinking that he's seen her for the second time in his life, Charles and he were total strangers to her. Why bother?

They approached the elevator together and Kitty threw him a brief inquisitive look.

"Would you like me to speed up the fall, so to say?"

Erik looked to the ground and had an image flash through his mind of diving through the planet's core and appearing on the other side. Lord, he wondered if she could do that.

"Why not," he shrugged.

After the dive they found themselves in the poorly lit room, full of loads and loads of cases and even one miniature power generator, occupying the corner. It was noticeably colder down here.

"My bad," said Kitty. "We have just skipped the necessary level, I'm afraid."

Erik was probably wearing the annoyed expression, because she looked at him apologetically. She has never been to this underground laboratory before, so he nodded, silently communicating his understanding.

"Hold on," Erik said plainly, when he sensed people approaching, "someone is coming this way."

Kitty looked to the side in thought, before smiling slightly.

"Hope to hear something interesting, don't you? Are you sure you are not one of the spies Scott is looking for everywhere? You may not know it yourself, it takes a semiskilled telepath to create one and both sides don't lack such."

"It takes more than a semiskilled mindreader to get into my head."

"Oh, I think I believe you, your Brightness."

The usage of the old imperial address stung, though it shouldn't have. The voices, meanwhile, were carried to their hiding place, and Erik realized who was talking before he heard anything at all. Hank McCoy, the one who, upon meeting Erik at the spaceport, has reacted with a growl, three times as impressive because of his animalistic appearance — and Charles has also got an accusatory, grave look. The second person was a governor. And, well, she, for a change, always watched him blankly, with easily recognizable professional detachment only individuals used to dealing with plenty people and races could demonstrate.

"If I had known then, I would try to talk Charles out of going," that was McCoy's deep, rumbling voice, "but he had just left one day, took his ship and was gone. No one knew what has happened to him for two years."

"What was done is done, enough about that," she stopped and the echo of footsteps died out. "I can understand many things; however, why invite Eisenhardt here is beyond me."

"It will be disaster all over again."

It was Charles' estate and Charles' facility: Erik didn't see any problem with him being present here. Kitty mouthed to him _let's go_ and Erik had to agree — he didn't need to listen to any more gossiping and biased opinions. Erik levitated both of them up to the ceiling using the metal plate covering one of the cases and they phased through, appearing right in front of elevator this time.

The elevated platform in the center of the laboratory caught his eye immediately, for it was the reason why everyone was here today. They were going to attempt, in the controlled environment, to recreate the portal as used by Herlir battleships. Unfortunately, not all equipment from Essex's ship was salvageable: the bastard took care to mine it and what they managed to save was due to Erik's quick reaction. It had been decided then, during an informal council with everyone involved in their rescue, that technology must remain hidden, to be studied later and in full secrecy. The center of the laboratory was separated by the blue force shield, as Charles was taking every precautionary measure to isolate the potential dimensional hole upon appearing.

Charles was giving the instructions to the technicians inside the barrier, and when he saw the newcomers he nodded to them, and soon approached them, taking off his helmet on the way. His gait, too slow and measured, looked as if he was deliberating every single step, and betrayed his exhaustion. Erik frowned when he caught himself thinking that. The mission — _decode_ Charles has turned into something bigger. Long, long ago.

"We can't stabilize the energy flow," Charles said as he made his way closer, "and, I'm afraid, that's not the only problem. Glad you could make it, lady Pryde."

While Charles brought them up to date, Erik looked around, carefully stretching his awareness of electromagnetic fields — his senses were practically assaulted by multiple pulses, resonance and fluctuation no one else could perceive. Erik noticed that Summers junior and his friend were also loitering around, the most poor excuse for guards he's seen, they have fallen upon Charles' shoulders too.

"If I had got Essex that time, we wouldn't even need to bother with this," Erik had to say it; this certain regret was poisoning his mind course for a while now.

"Maybe," Charles crossed his arms, suddenly defensive. He turned to look at Kitty as she was putting on the protection gear.

"What's wrong?" Erik was insistent.

"It's probably nothing. I've been feeling a presence," he gave Erik a sidelong glance — his unwillingness to go into details irked Erik.

"Is your telepathy —"

"I'm not certain," he shook his head, "but it is vast, indescribable in human terms. Even when I start thinking or speaking about it, it slips away."

"It started that day, right?"

"I can't be sure."

The intrusion. Could it be that it was the aftereffect of what had happened to him; Erik dissected the idea with clinical precision. The explanation was plausible in his opinion. Well, Erik considered himself a truthful person when it came to his relations with the world: he appreciated that special brand of crude openness and honesty in others, but he was forgetting, time and again, that Charles operated in a different way.

Charles directed him to the stand with spare protection suits and there they were joined by two ensigns.

"Professor," Summers junior smiled pleasantly, bowed his head, "we've been thinking that maybe you have another job for us, because sitting all day long in this freezer instead of doing some actual work it's, well. It's a waste. Maybe, you need to get some supplies from the city."

His friend, right behind his back, adopted a poorly concealed long-suffering look.

"I'm sorry, Alex, but since I took over this research, I simply can't let you go wandering on your own. A few people know what is going on there and I'd like to keep it a secret for as long as possible."

"There is a chance you will be the one to test the portal, we don't have that many volunteers to spare," added Erik nonchalantly.

"Granted," muttered another guy.

"I think, we'll refrain from interfering in your research," said the blond one curtly, but his gaze directed at something behind Erik's back grew alarmed. "What— "

Erik felt it, before he saw it: a certain abnormality in the wires, the broken current, loss of connection. Charles was running back, already passing through the force shield, as the dismayed cries carried from the direction of the platform.

_Erik, two men are injured, help me to get them out and secure the area._

"Follow me," he threw to the ensigns and also sprinted to the platform.

Charles and his recklessness.

Inner voice told him that he must not go there, that the wrongness he perceived through his power was escalating. The force shield was vibrating when he crossed the barrier, tiny sparks and particles of shiny blue light illuminated its surface, which was not a good sign. Erik saw Charles and some other people next to the power generator feeding the destabilized constructing and rushed to him. It happened so fast, and, one more time, he felt it before he saw it: the dangerous accumulation of strange energy not above the platform but right to the left. Someone collided into him; Erik shoved that someone away. Calling to his powers he grabbed some cable just when the vortex under his feet opened up. Not above the platform. Why!

_Erik, turn off the generator. _

The generator exploded in the red blast, that was the knight's brother most likely and he should have been more careful because the shrapnel and shards flew everywhere. Erik was grateful for the spacesuit, protecting him from the blast injury and, he was sure, unbearable noise. The black vortex, meanwhile, gave the last powerful pulse, the contraction swallowing the figure in spacesuit before Erik could reach that person with his powers. It was like an inhale of some tremendous being, startled from the long repose. It convulsed. A violent paroxysm tore the cable from his hands. And he thought he heard Charles screaming for him.

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	6. The Dive

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All at once his own faculties were restored, the dark vertigo ceased to be, he could see and was fully conscious of what was going on. That, however, was hardly good news. He was crumpled on the floor of the completely different lab, where scientists in white, and military in dark red, probably officers, surrounded the platform, mutely gaping for now. Well, he thought, and air filled with the song of metal obeying him. Then, something landed on top of him, and Erik flipped them over, ready to attack when:

_Erik, stop! Please._

Erik lifted his visor while Charles, beneath him, struggled with his helmet and when he finally took it off, he looked quite flushed.

"Er, excuse me, professor," Erik snapped his head back and saw Summers, awkwardly spread on the floor, with his friend at his side.

"How long are they going to stay like this?"

Erik looked up and a very picturesque view met his eyes. Everyone was literally frozen on the spot, he could see people in the middle of running, shouting and pointing at them, someone was already aiming a phaser, others were only reaching for their weapons, caught up in the moment and suspended in motion. It was extraordinary.

"Charles, is that your doing?"

"Yes, but, um, do you mind?"

"Sorry," finally reacted Erik and let go of him, standing up.

"And answering your question, Alex, not long enough, I'm afraid," his voice vibrated with tension, "I can sense another telepath, a very powerful one approaching. I, I don't believe, I'll hold on."

"Someone else has fallen in before me," quickly said Erik, looking keenly around the group of alien beings. There was no doubt that right now they were in the midst of some Herlir facility, and what more, they needed to find a way out very soon. He cared not to explore the doings of the enemy so closely, besides no scientific certitude was worth such great sacrifice. Those people, and a great deal of insectoids he saw here, were slowly acquiring negative, malicious traits as his mindscape rediscovered the issue anew. Because right at the moment Erik realized that he was definitely not on their side.

"Oh, no," Charles grew devastated, as he went on with justified weariness, "we are alone here. No one else came before us. We are on the orbital station," he said anticipating the questions, "it's L'har, here they conduct their experiments. They still can't use this portal at sufficient distance: the calibration is too unstable and unbelievably energy-consuming. And," he winced, deep lines appeared on his forehead, "their Empress is just coming. Her escort will arrive any moment."

The portal pulsed above their heads, its eerie darkness unperturbed.

"If we get back into the portal right now, you don't know where we will end," guessed Erik as Summers cursed behind his back.

"It can be anywhere: right in the open space, or, say, in the nearest planetary core somewhere, there have been precedents. There is a chance that we may come back home, but the probability of that happening is extremely slight. This is what they have been trying to accomplish," Charles strode to the indicating panel, peeking around a woman working there. "I must go deeper in her mind and find out—"

He never finished that sentence.

The attack that came was fast and ruthless and aimed at Charles. It caught Erik completely off guard. Charles' body was shoved into the opposite wall by some invisible force and he slid, boneless, to the ground and didn't stir. And suddenly, everyone in the lab started moving again.

Erik screamed, he groped blindly for the metal cables, transforming them into spears, and thrust the projectiles forward. A phazer shot grazed a hair's breadth from his shoulder and he hastened to melt the weapons in the hands of the soldiers, their pained yells accompanying the havoc. But the metal he had hurled at their assailant didn't move. It was left hanging in the air, suspended by the will matching his own, and Erik felt hot beads of sweat sliding down his neck — brutal ferocity of the power was too much for any effective resistance, so he merely torn down the bits of equipment and hurled it forth, dashing to the side, elbowing his way through the panicking crowd. Through the mayhem, he caught the glimpse of his attacker's face, partly obscured by the strange helmet and his blood ran cold. No, it was impossible. But the metal sliding to trip him proved Erik wrong. He barely avoided it and used some container as a shield when more metal projectiles came after him. Inside his mind he didn't stop calling Charles, but the other was unresponsive. He thought he saw Summers running to Charles when he fell, and Erik hoped that he had reached him.

The metal container was pushed back and he had to jump to the side, hence coming face to face with the man in the helmet.

It was bewildering. More of the terrible unknown.

He was looking up into his own eyes. He was stared down with collected ferocity, he knew he had in him in the moments of agitation.

"Who are you?"

It was his voice he heard, dry and commanding, overpowering the noise, and even the poised posture was his.

Erik bristled, instinct demanded of him to fight back, so he did it by putting his palm on the ground and tearing the floor apart, transforming obedient metal into giant spikes targeting his doppelganger. Therefore he nearly missed the moment when the soldiers approached him, but, he dealt with them quickly, almost mindlessly dislodging the joints and snapping bones in the brief melee, body moving on its own. He was aware only of the flow of movement and heady rush of battle running through his veins.

And then everyone but his opponent stopped again and in an instant crumbled to the ground.

Erik used the moment of confusion in his favor and faked a move by raising his hand and lifting a fragment of the panel while he discreetly manipulated thin wires to tear the helmet off the man's head. He almost got caught, but succeeded and then that man crumbled to the ground as well, joining his allies.

Wasting no more time, he ran to Charles, who was sitting on the spot where he fell, surrounded by both ensigns. There was something unusual in the way Summers was holding himself, too rigid, but Erik's gaze turned immediately to Charles. Blood was trickling down his brow, from the long gash on his forehead, though he made no move to wipe it away, staring blankly at nothing, unblinking.

"He doesn't respond, sir. At first, I thought he had a concussion, but," his name was Munoz recalled Erik and noticed that he and Summers were keeping themselves at a distance from remarkably still Charles.

"We must leave now, grab some supplies and weapons, whatever you can get in under a minute and find a helmet for Charles. Also get a first aid kit. Hurry!"

They didn't have plenty of time. They didn't have any time at all to be honest and Erik, when stretching his senses, could feel a huge bulk of metal, a spaceship, docking outside of station.

"Charles, look at me!" he threw himself to his knees in front of Charles, and carefully touched his cheek, smearing the bloody trail.

Like the very first time when Charles introduced him to his powers, he felt the same blazing fire, invisible force roaring extremely close to the surface, threatening and potent, and pressing down on him with incredible, unyielding force, urging him to crawl away and hide. This time the crackling energy danced in Charles' wide unseeing eyes: it had grabbed savagely hold of Erik's mind as soon as they locked gazes; without any warning, it started drilling inside and Erik, unprepared for assault, groaned, and knowing that he would not last long in the battle of mental kind, he lashed out physically.

Such was the force of his punch that Charles doubled over, uttering a sharp agonizing gasp.

"Forgive me, please forgive me."

"Erik, have you just punched me?" heavily panted Charles, befuddled and disoriented.

One shrewd glance at his face was enough to tell that he was back to normal.

"I did. I'm sorry, Charles, that was — "

"You'll tell me later," he interrupted and then, "oh my, she is here."

"Hey, I hope, I got the right one," Summers threw him a helmet and Erik levitated it closer, right into his hands.

"Charles, put it on and lets go," Erik looked around the horrible mess of torn machinery the lab turned into and was briefly thankful that the portal was still active, if only quickly shrinking in itself.

"It's a gamble," groaned Charles before lowering the visor. "But, I agree that as prisoners we would be doomed even more so."

Erik levitated them both on the torn block of the floor, fetching Summers and Munoz on the way. Right before they dove into the blackness he saw three people materializing next to the platform, but that was all, as, one more time, he was swallowed by the dark matter, firmly clutching Charles in his grip, desperate not to let go.

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_The air is clear, so we can take off our helmets._

Charles' announcement struck him as a funny thing, because they didn't have any oxygen left anyway. Erik was reluctant to admit that he was tired, especially after the little voyage across that terrible ocean. The waves were freakishly big and Erik's powers came in handy to transport all of them to the land, which took him about two hours, and that endeavor left him currently weak and exhausted beyond measure.

He lifted his visor with a barely perceptible sigh and tossed his head back, breathing in salty, cold air. Skies were blue, hued light-green, and stripes of orange light, scattered all over the dome, were shining brighter and brighter, making the setting sun pale in comparison to the reddish eye of the huge moon and the smaller yellow one.

Erik glanced to his right. Munoz has taken his helmet off right when they stepped on the sand, but the guy could breathe underwater, thus it was hardly a surprise. He and Summers were laughing and talking to each other, probably reliving the incredibility of their successful escape.

Charles has carefully hidden the scanner back into the cylindrical holder and came closer, limping.

"Good heavens, I think, I'm going to fall asleep on my feet," he joked, somewhat breathlessly. "I can't believe how lucky we were to have arrived here. Soon, the sensor will finish drawing our coordinates, but, as I have mentioned, we couldn't have jumped that far. Two visible moons and the old star, hm, I can hypothesize that we are in the Nerub system at least."

"If so, we are on the habitable land."

"Hardly, only some old mines and occasional spacecraft factories, but it's good either way," Charles sat on the flat stone by his side with a pained grunt. "I need equipment to analyze the data from our jump: it may help us to understand the general principles of its work and we even might recreate the same technology from the scratch now and multiply it. And, who knows, maybe we will be able to progress where they have failed."

Good to know that his inclination to work has only increased. As did a mind-boggling tendency to expect the best possible outcome.

"Let me look at your injuries," Erik nudged the plastic box with his foot. "And then, I suppose, we will need to rest."

"It can wait, we need to find a shelter first," Charles managed a pale semblance of smile. "I just want to sit here for a little while and then we can go."

Erik didn't find any will to argue and they fell into comfortable silence, watching the colorful sunset and listening to the hypnotic play of the waves. Green birds with large powerful beaks were sweeping in circles up in the sky, uttering piercing wailing cries. They seemed to have four wings — mused Erik. He also heard the rustling in the sand, but before he turned his head the creature had disappeared underneath the rock, only long spiked tail swished and was gone.

"Where are we going now?" Summers' dark silhouette was cutting the horizon right in front of him and Erik, in his muddled state, didn't even sense his approach.

"Up the cliff," curtly said Erik. "There are unusual metal structures there, Charles thinks that it may be an abandoned mine or factory. From there we can send a distress message."

"Roger."

Getting to their destination had taken them an hour or so, and even Summers got noticeably tired closer to the end of the journey. Munoz started helping Charles from the very beginning, and Erik has given him a grateful nod. He would have supported Charles himself of course, had he not been so utterly drained.

At night, air was filled with shuffling, croaking and occasional roars and that sort of company was not reassuring at all. Finally, they stepped onto the high plane and two moons shed light on the pyramidal structure of the factory. Erik decided that it was deactivated, not abandoned when they came closer, for he was not able to sense any openings. Gates were sealed: airtight, as far as he could judge. Again, Erik used his powers to slide the protesting panel to the side, disabled the instant alarm and guarding droids and they went in, leaving the vociferous night behind.

System was programmed to awaken automatically so Erik assumed that the owner had planned to come back in not so distant future. Why else leave the whole complex in hibernation.

The elevator has taken them to the upper store of the tall structure where the leaving quarters were situated and they, mechanically, dragged themselves into separate rooms. Erik followed Charles, only dimly contemplating the idea of the night shift guard.

"Don't worry. I can't be completely sure in my state, everything feels blurred, but I think we can rest safely here," Charles started taking the space suit off and Erik turned around, eyes searching for the washroom door.

Room could boast two bare beds with dusty dark screens on the headboards. Erik kicked open one of the containers under the bed and found it empty. The other one had a thick blanket inside and a pair of pants.

"I will try to take a shower or do you want to go first," Charles pointed to the narrow door in the corner he had missed.

"No, you go. I'll look for more blankets."

"A pillow would be nice," muttered Charles dreamily and disappeared inside the cabin. Soon a sound of running water could be heard.

In the end, Erik has found only some sheets and a flimsy bedcover, no pillows at all. When he came back Charles was sitting on the bed in the obligatory grey uniform: his wet hair was curling, unruly stands clinging to his neck; there was no trace of gore on his face aside from the deep red line running down the left side of his forehead.

"Thank you very much, Erik," he hastened to get up before Erik could protest and helped him to make the bed.

"Charles, I must — "

"I know, and don't worry: I've taken the pills and applied some salve. It should be enough. Erik, something has happened there, something I can't remember," he has drawn in a shaky breath and slowly sat down, beckoning Erik closer.

He nodded and sat next to Charles, letting their shoulders brush together.

"That's why you have hit me, right? Was I hurting these people? Was I hurting you?"

"I don't know what exactly you did to them, and I won't pretend that I care. As for me, it was not that bad, I stopped you. And I am sorry."

"You shouldn't berate yourself, Erik," Charles said warmly as he reached between them and squeezed his hand, anchoring Erik with a simple gesture. "On the contrary, I'm grateful. You know, my conscious memory starts with a flare of pain and you begging forgiveness. I've just put two and two together."

"Do you want to have a look?"

"Are you… you are offering what I think you're offering? Correct?" he sounded strangely vulnerable as though mutely asking — aren't you afraid of what I can do to you.

"Go on, we have already had this conversation before: yes, you can share my memories. There was someone I want you to see."

"All right," Charles relapsed into silence when suddenly, "I can't believe it! Oh, now I see."

"Who was that?" he did realize the unsubtle density of the question but Erik was in desperate need of some clue. Anything would do.

"A clone? I don't know…"

"He had the same powers," said Erik quickly, covering his minute wavering, "the same everything."

"Cloning is persecuted in the Union for a reason," Charles shook his head disapprovingly, eyes turning serious and dejected, "don't let yourself have any doubts about who you really are, Erik. Even if he is what I think he is, his life must be painful and miserable, the aging on the cellular level is usually sped up greatly and the constant psychic misbalance makes it worse."

There was bitter wisdom in his words, woven with deep sympathy. So like Charles. After a contemplative pause Erik turned to face him more.

"Are you sure that you are all right?" he prodded, cautious.

"Well, almost," huffed Charles, with a curious undertone of teasing tiredness, and drew Erik in for a kiss, as though that manner of reassurance was more sufficient. It was definitely pleasant though.

Afterwards, they fell asleep in one bed, sharing the blanket, and somehow Erik found the crumpled bedding more comfortable than it earlier appeared to be. Erik also felt that he could sleep like this forever. However, after a while he woke up, keenly aware of Charles stirring and murmuring some nonsense in his sleep. Erik absentmindedly tucked him into the curve of his body and Charles grew quiet. No dreams came that night.

When he opened his eyes once again Charles was still asleep, quite effectively cocooning himself into the most of the blanket and simultaneously taking hold of Erik's collar, thankfully loose fitting. Erik carefully relaxed his grip on the garment and scooted away and up, soundlessly slipping from the room.

He paced the length of the corridor in search of the way to the very top and he found it in the far corner, the door blocked by the security system that has taken three minutes of his time to deal with. He originally thought that he would discover an interplanetary transmitter there and he was right. What he didn't expect though was the body in the transparent tank in the center.

Just great — darkly thought Erik.

_Erik? Is everything okay?_

Yes, everything was fine, except the fact that it was not a factory, probably, but something entirely different. In yesterday's haze he didn't investigate the lower levels properly and now he was weary of what he might discover there. You must take a look at this too — he thought at Charles. While he was waiting for his arrival, he examined the tank closer. It was a rectangle and he assumed it was previously displayed vertically. Through the bluish, gel-like substance he could see the face of the person, quite dead, for he had seen his share of dead people and aliens to come to such conclusion without delay. The man in the tank was probably a mutant, judging by the webs on his hands and the set of his plain chin with visible gills. Erik has never heard of such race before. His eyes were wide open and if one asked Erik what was that he had seen last, he would wager that it was something highly disturbing.

He intentionally left the doors open so that the others could follow him if needed. Charles stumbled through shortly after and his eyes strayed directly towards the tank Erik was staying next to. Nearness to the dead man had affected him more than Erik, as coming level with him Charles set his jaw very tight; thus Erik strongly suspected that he was only faking calm.

"You think we need to go down and find out more about this place?"

"Yes," Charles visibly gulped down a lump, turning away from the glass. "Alex and Armando will be here soon. They saw me going in this direction and followed. Here they are."

They took one look at the corpse and said no more, for they must have seen much worse concluded Erik.

"Have you sent the transmission yet?"

Summers had actually made a valid point.

"Now that we know our exact coordinates," Charles answered instead of him, "and we are really not far from L'har, strictly speaking, there is a chance that a message may be intercepted by the enemy. We will still do it, anyway, unless there is a decent ship somewhere, waiting to be borrowed."

"Damn, so we may get stuck here after all."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I'll send the coded message immediately," Erik has briskly turned to work. "If you have spare time, go search for supplies, but don't even dream of going to the lower levels alone. Am I clear?"

Summers tsked, as his friend nodded reluctantly and they disappeared from sight.

"Erik, I hope you realize that they have just decided to do the opposite," Charles seemed reproachful and even dismayed at such turn of events.

Erik paused to smirk.

"They are children in so many regards. Can't you see it? Therefore, I gave them a chance to be rebellious once in a while. They are capable enough. I wouldn't worry if I were you."

"I will go with them," stated Charles a bit testily, ignoring his words.

Although he looked better today, partly due to the medicine, yet he walked with a limp, only slightly less obvious than yesterday.

"Wait, Charles!"

_I already know everything you want to say, Erik. And I will go regardless. You can join us as soon as you are done here. _

No one was in the room anymore, so in the privacy of his thoughts he was left to marvel at stupid mistakes he continued to make. Each of those arrived out of blue to sour the beginning of his new and so valuable relationship. Both his personalities had vast loads of knowledge in many spheres, all of which was useless right now. Meanwhile, he never ceased to work and when he finished and left, he has somehow restored his shaken equilibrium.

It was obscure at first, a danger he could dimly perceive. His instincts haven't betrayed him so far and Erik decided to speed up, willing the elevator to drop faster. He called Charles and rejoiced when he received the answer immediately.

_No, there is only dust and bodies. It was an experimental facility, Erik. And I thought that we have finished with it for good and all._

He sent Erik a couple of gory images: corpses of children with mutilated features, corpses missing limbs, bizarre chimeras in the huge tanks, all of them preserved by gel from inevitable rotting, displayed like items of the coarse, low exposition in neat rows. It reminded Erik of Essex.

They agreed to meet at the main gate and Erik was the first to arrive.

As soon as the others joined him Erik stated rather firmly, indifferent to the doubts:

"We must leave immediately."

The reactions were peculiar.

"And why now?" asked Charles, "Not that I want to stay in this horrible mausoleum any longer than necessary—"

Deep, low rumble was the answer in its own, as the ground shook beneath their feet. Not waiting any more, Erik burst the gates open and flung himself and Charles outside, just in time when the second blast shook the building, melting the glass, metal and plastic, while the entire structure got engulfed into scorching heat, enough to turn sand into glass. Erik didn't know how long his metal shield would last: he started feeling the leak of piercing heat on his nape, his back, as he was holding his breath in order not to inhale poisonous smoke and hoped that Charles has done the same. Erik was clinging to him so tightly, with more force than it was justified perhaps, but he couldn't let Charles get hurt on his watch any more. It had already happened too many times.

Charles' body shook violently in his arms when he started to cough, wheezing. Erik also couldn't held his breath any longer, thus he carefully lifted the abundance of metal off and away only to get more acid smoke into his eyes and lungs. It felt as if having been poked in the eyes and chest with multiple molten needles.

"Come on," he rasped, fighting the burning ache in his throat, "let's get away from here."

Breathing became gradually easier when they hobbled down the path they had come.

"Erik, please, wait!"

Charles was covered in dust and dark ash from head to toe. Also, tears were running from his eyes, leaving dark, ugly smudges in their trail.

Darn, Erik cursed, he had forgotten about their companions in his haste.

"I will go back and fetch them, Charles. Stay here," he looked back at the giant torch the building has turned into and made the mistake of tilting his head more.

The worst fears have panned out, for the sky, previously clear and peaceful in all its eerie beauty, was now crumbling, long red lines of falling ships, like meteors, crossed the dome — the first messages of the ultimate destruction. Up in the high, on the orbit, the furious battle was taking place. He knew it. And they will sweep away the surface as soon as light jets will engage into clash, and then we are done for good — the thought had a sobering effect, prompting him to engage into action.

"They are alive!" Charles cried out suddenly, pointing ahead.

And they indeed were alive, stumbling to them through the burning wreckage.

"Charles, we need a ship, preferably operable," said Erik when all members of their little team have gathered again.

"You mean, oh, I see what you mean," Charles glanced up, his eyes widened, "Erik, it is too far. I can't, it's impossible. I'm sorry, my friend," he choked out in desperation which Erik's resolution could hardly resist.

"I don't want to die like this," Summers shook his head wildly, clenching his fists.

"Charles, you can and you must," Erik leaned closer and thrust back dirty, wet bangs from above Charles' eyes; the tingling thrill of skin to skin touch lingered as he put another hand on his nape, drawing his unresisting friend in, to rest their foreheads together. "I have no idea where your doubts are coming from. You are obviously stronger than you believe, I have always known it. Just do it."

He waited, counting his heartbeats, while the world was collapsing around them, painted in red.

"Yes, Erik… I will definitely get us out of here," Charles has finally muttered both aloud and inside his head and Erik stepped back, sensibly keeping eyes on him.

Charles' gaze immediately glassed over and he stilled, retreating into unknown distances. Erik didn't know whether others could feel Charles as good as he could, because to him the accumulation of energy was almost palpable in the air, skyrocketing fast and great. He had caught the rapid glimpse of bright yellow sparks in Charles' blue eyes and right after he saw a thin streak of dark red dripping down his nose.

"Look!" he heard a yell, "They have destroyed the frigging moon!"

_Done._

Inside, his voice came like thunder, resounding like bell in Erik's aching head. And Erik managed to catch him just as his eyes rolled back, settling down on the ground with unconscious Charles in his lap.

The silvery hulk of the light battle cruiser landed right at the edge of the cliff they have previously climbed up.

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Erik was frankly proud of Charles and his amazing gift: everybody onboard acted as if rescuing them was the highest priority, and there were more than sixty crew members there, convinced that they have promptly left the battlefield and landed on the planet due to their primary mission. Everyone, but this man. Erik disliked him from the very first sight.

"We can't just turn around and lay course to Valkar," the principal deputy argued with vigor. Plain hint of scorn in his tone was directed at Erik. Logan was also the one most confused with a whole early retreat business and Erik grimly suspected that he had some sort of repelling mutation.

"What about this planet?" he pointed to Charles' native world, maintaining collected and subdued tone.

Blue holographic map has started shimmering before his eyes. Erik subtly shook his head to chase away nasty dizziness. Now was not the time.

"I need to consult an engineer officer first. The damage to our force shield is too extensive. You must understand that repairs —"

If not for Charles, you would have been extinguished with the rest of the Union fleet, ungrateful bastard. Of course, Erik couldn't say that. His brain has apparently chosen to ignore the rest of the tirade, turning it into annoying white noise.

The captain, on the other hand, was eerily silent during the entire argument. His deep seated black eyes and light-blue complexion betrayed his Versian origins, and though Versians always came across as hard-edged individuals to Erik, this one was unusually aloof and inhibited. Together with crude, bad-mannered principal deputy they surely formed a strange tandem. In the end, Erik did convince them that they needed to get to their destination as fast as possible. His righteous, quite conclusive for that matter, concern was that Charles wouldn't wake up any time soon; and therefore the burden of persuading these people was resting with him from now on.

No one invited Logan, but he tagged along just the same when Erik left the war room behind and went straight to the medical bay. Darn, but this man was seriously getting on his nerves. Erik kept his expression carefully neutral though, watching him from the corner of his eye: even smart navy uniform wasn't able to conceal rippling muscles more suited for a menial in the machine compartment than a high ranking officer, and Erik didn't know many people still wearing facial hair in the space era, especially as ridiculous as these sideburns were. Was it some sort of weird sacramental penance or what?

"What exactly happened to your friend?" asked Logan rather bluntly as they stepped into the elevator together.

"Smoke poisoning," replied Erik succinctly — that was partially true after all.

"It was some smoke, if he is still comatose."

Erik shot him an icy glare.

"I was wondering what business you have with two greenies and a man in coma, your Brightness."

"I'm travelling incognito," he ignored the implied question.

"Obviously. Now I meant to say that I don't trust you. Your kind upholds no honour," he fixed Erik with a grim look of his own. "But something tells me that you realize it yourself."

Only Erik was ready for savage and cynical things, he never flattered himself into belief that he was going to be welcomed with open arms all of the sudden. The manifestation of distrust was elemental: that's why it didn't bother him as much as it could have. Yet, that provocative bit about honour had somehow gone through.

After Logan left him alone, evidently satisfied with himself, yet unable to get a rise out of him, Erik could scarcely think of their exchange anymore. He frowned at the doors to the medical bay — for some indistinct reason, he was suddenly wary of coming inside, wary of looking at Charles in hospital bed. Even though, he sighed, he should have got used to it by now.

And then doors slid open, so he came face to face with Munoz.

"Sir," Munoz nodded and stepped to the side, politely, misunderstanding Erik's intentions, "Alex is staying with professor now. Don't worry, he will not leave his side."

"Any changes?"

"No, unfortunately not," said Munoz quietly, "nothing new actually. Their doc constantly repeats that his nervous system got stuck in extreme overload and she has never seen anything like this before. Maybe, I don't know, but shouldn't we tell her that professor Xavier is a telepath?"

Erik messed up with Charles' identification from the start; otherwise, their fickle cover would have been blown pretty soon. He thought that his actions didn't require any additional explaining.

"Let's wait. Their principal deputy is already suspecting me."

"But," Munoz frowned, looked at him strangely.

"If you reveal the truth now, we might find ourselves in a very dire situation. The only proper way for them to react would be putting us immediately into custody, and you must be familiar with the military punishment for disruption of their operations. And you do remember who is directly responsible for that, don't you?"

"But, we are onboard of an allied battleship. I think, there must be some —"

"Allies? You can't be that guileless," Erik's quip has shut him up that instant. "This is war. Would we have got any help if we had sent a rescue message? No, of course we wouldn't. There are certain priorities in play here and everyone is bound to them, whether they want it or not. And saving lives, I presume, is the last one on the list."

"Understood. May I go now?" Munoz got clearly uncomfortable, tried not to show it and failed spectacularly.

"Sure," nodded Erik. "I suppose, point is made."

"Point taken."

The lack of cool, realistic thinking, at least a little amount of it, was truly atrocious. Erik has just braced himself before going in, when yellow alert burst in the corridor. Now what? It was too much already.

Cursing his poor luck, he sprinted back to the elevator and fiddled with the scanner, making the mechanism take him straight to the bridge. While he was at it, cool female voice announced red alert, prompting the crew to come into their respective positions. The message got repeated over and over as he stepped onto the bridge. Blinded by flashing lights, Erik blinked a couple of times before adjusting his eyes. The captain was not on the bridge, noted the oddity Erik, looking about a frantic commanding center. Large holographic screens caught his attention, when:

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Logan, it seemed, had eyes on the back of his head.

A few more people glanced back at him from their working stations, however very briefly, getting back to work immediately.

"I want to help."

It was true, Erik didn't want to die or get captured after everything Charles and he had gone through.

"Don't need it. Drake, escort lord Eisenhardt to his cabin and make sure that he stays there."

Young, pale man sprang to his feet that instant, but Erik didn't leave him a chance to proceed.

"Just stop being stubborn. Lord, I only want to help."

A furious grimace on Logan's openly hostile face was something that one called the last warning.

"You are so fucked, man," muttered Drake, loud enough for Erik to hear.

The ground shook under his feet, and an operator reported:

"Left wing is hit. Shields on seventy percent, force field output is dropping down, sir."

"Send mechanics to fix it, keep the distance at maximum."

Erik leveled Drake with a hard stare and he hesitated, looking torn between following the direct order and going back to his station.

"Why are you still here? Where is the captain?"

"Give me a jet, your pilots will not be able to hold back three battle cruisers, especially when they launch their own," Erik quickly scanned the display, his mind busy calculating the possible chances of their survival. He didn't like the odds. At all.

"They have probably noticed us long ago and sent chasers," he pointed out. "In open space we can't use anything to our advantage. We need to reach that asteroid belt over there as soon as possible."

"Tell me something I don't know," scowled Logan.

"Captain is in his cabin, sir. He doesn't respond to the intercom."

"What the hell is going on?!" Logan cursed in a fit of temper.

Another hit would have sent Drake flying right into the panel, had Erik not caught his arm in time. He let his powers do the job and maintain his stance, relying on metal bracelets and protective gear borrowed from the ship's storage, with some additional metal plates he added. He discovered that he could balance his body quite well, as his control over electromagnetism was getting better day by day.

"Shields on fifty percent, sir. Fire in the engine compartment."

"Eisenhardt," said Logan calmly. "If you betray us, I will personally hunt you down. Is it clear?"

That was a permission, figured Erik.

"Yeah, whatever," he turned to the elevator.

"Drake, get back into your chair, don't make us scrape your brains from the walls, for fuck's sake. Tell mechanics to get ready a jet for our lord here. Hurry!"

The lower deck was hell, true hell indeed, even comparing to the commanding center. The smell of freshly spilled reflux fluid, loud shouts, messy people in messy, dirty uniforms were elbowing and cursing him, but they have let him get into the jet, at last. The one he was given was in a surprisingly decent condition, actually. At least, all systems worked, so he dove into the cockpit after a brief check and put on his helmet. This model — elongated, with two plasma engines on both sides, was not new: Erik himself has only heard of it, while Eisenhardt has piloted it before, naturally. Therefore, when he started the engine there was a fleeting déjà vu moment. He couldn't get distracted by this memory stuff, grimly realized Erik. Ultimate focus — that's what he needs.

He turned off the operator, focusing only on his targets, throwing his fighter into the midst of the battle. Six Union jets versus ten enemies. Their chasers were not even trying, damn it. Well, time to start. His powers took over and he performed a crazy maneuver that swirled his jet in space and instantly closed up to the victim of his choice. Laser beams were just a distraction and then he pretended that he was diving to the left, as he caught up with two enemy fighters, like he originally wanted, and _pulled_. The corresponding collision was quite plain. He was already at a distance, far enough for the wreckage from two crashed jets not to leave a scratch on his machine.

It was only a beginning.

Erik sped up, top speed, aiming right at the cruiser, followed by one enemy. What looked like a suicide attack and thus was not taken seriously would be their downfall. In a minute.

Dodging the incoming, he has sent his jet to the left and then forward again, aiming at the left engine, covered protectively by the blue sheen of force shield. Right after evading more laser beams, he stretched his awareness as far as he could, gritted his teeth, sternly reminded himself that he had forced Charles to do even worse. Sharp spike of pain stabbed through his head. Pain came together with muted tunnel vision. Then, Erik closed his eyes; he decided to let his power be his sight and his ears. And it worked. It really worked, darn it. With everything he had, he has torn the gigantic hulk of the battle cruiser apart, only from the left, but it was enough. Before his mental sight, the picture of destruction was outstandingly vivid and when he opened his eyes it was even grander. Parts of wreckage hit the jet hanging on his tail, breaking it into pieces.

On the display he saw many small dots, closing in. Must be the squadron from two remaining cruisers. Erik stayed put, wisely choosing the huge bulk of metal wreckage as his cover. Of course, the trap worked, like it should have. That was not a fair fight, rather it was a battle for survival and he was immensely glad that he's managed to win it. He has dealt with eight jets, before the rest of them changed tactics and started attacking from the distance. Union pilots woke up in time, thankfully, and helped him out a bit, by alluring the fire.

In the end, Erik stopped feeling his hands, so firmly clenched around joystick, that they seemed one integral unit. His fighter was damaged, displays went crazy, showing some mishmash of binary and alert messages. Apparently, he had overdone it himself, seeing as equipment was already reacting to his powers. About time, their battered battleship reached the asteroid belt, and though it meant that navigators were going to have the time of their lives, they could also get lost in it and shake two remaining chasers off with a little bit of luck on their side.

This weary chase began to gloom at last.

When he directed his jet into the open mouth of hangar, for a beat he was afraid that he would miss, so bad his head was aching. Somehow he did it, returned his borrowed fighter almost unscratched. Well, almost. Having got out of cockpit, he discovered that those messy people were now shouting something into his ears, clapping him on the shoulder, which totally didn't make flinch, and doing every other thing imaginable to add to the pounding in his head.

"Man, you look like shit," someone told him.

Then there was Drake from earlier. How did he get here? As if reading his mind, Drake explained:

"I need to make sure that you are not dead upon return and escort you to the medical bay in case you are injured."

"I have a dreadful headache," informed him Erik.

"Medical bay it is, then. And, well, thank you, I guess."

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	7. The Course

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Tables and benches were carved out of solid dark wood, rude and rugged in shape, but with intricate patterns on every part of the visible surface. Slow background music brought forth memories of timeless journeys, paramount sites and endless mounds of sand under the purple skies. Charles said this place was his favorite in the city. In dim light, it seemed less ordinary, homier, so he could totally see why Charles was so fond of it.

His attention was much more engaged in watching Charles laugh than in his own steaming drink. Charles' laughter could be described as generous — yes, that was the word. No one else laughed with so much lively, contagious joy as he did, throwing his head back, as if nothing else under this sun was able to bother him.

"What is so funny?"

"You, oh dear," another fit of hearty laughter, however brief, "you have the best sense of humor, my friend. The best in the galaxy."

"I don't. And you are drunk."

"Just tipsy," Charles grinned, and cocked his head to the side, "I can always will it away, you know."

They have attracted unwanted attention; he saw a few curious heads turning in their direction more often than necessary. He shouldn't have listened to Charles and should have chosen some other venue.

"No one will remember us. I will take care of it."

"We will not have a normal conversation if you continue to pick up before I even formulate a thought," to tell the truth it was not as much a bother, as a jarring reminder, that he came without any protection, moreover, he was in the city the inner hostility of which was masked by the brand brightness and too casual inhabitants.

"Sorry, I'll try to keep myself in check."

We have never gone drinking with Charles, especially with this exuberant and bright-eyed Charles realized Erik, and as soon as he did the image in front of his eyes swayed from side to side, turned blurry, as though seen through incredibly thick layers and layers of glass. Due to previous experience and knowledge he knew that the image would soon dissolve, one tantalizing glimpse among many, but it was his first glimpse of Charles and he together. He strived to grasp it instinctively and then consciously, he tried to keep the image from disappearing.

Too late.

"I hope you won't tell them where to find me," she muttered, smiling a little, her lowered voice rich with warm sentiment.

"I wouldn't dare," he said to the woman in a long, blue dress, who was leaning on the balcony balustrade in the shade thrown by the large plant with triangle leaves and white inflorescence, emitting pungent, herby smell.

The sounds of music and conversation could be heard through tall glass doors, separating the balcony from the ball room.

Erik had already seen her in a different memory.

His mother seemed pleased when he joined her, leaning on the balustrade too, taking in the scattering of lights on the ground below and the scattering of stars up in the sky. That was one of these rare nights when all three moons were not reflecting the light of Valkar, their sun, but were temporarily in the dark, leaving their part of the globe with no natural night light.

"I never had a single chance to ask you about your trip. Holding court gets more time-consuming and tiring as years go by."

The indication of slight hurt didn't pass unnoticed. He knew that he should have talked to her sooner, court or no court, but his training and then his other perfunctory duties had kept him otherwise occupied.

"It was fine, could have been worse, actually," he simply said. "You know that I don't favor central planets, especially the ones like Creamenia, for instance." The matters of delegacy didn't stick well with him too, but she already knew it.

"I have received dozens of highly detailed reports disclosing and analyzing the prospects of our system's development, both official and not. But I'm not interested in those now. What about you? Tell me about places you've seen, people you've met. Have you seen your friend, by the way?"

He let Charles' name slip some time ago, completely unwittingly, and since then he reconciled himself to it. He had to give his mother credit: she has always inquired after Charles in a gentle way, quiet and composed, as if not disgruntled by his customary curt replies at all.

"I have met him," she instantly brightened at his words — the cause of such happiness remained unknown to him.

"Why don't you invite him here? He is a scientist, if I remember correctly. I'm sure that he will enjoy our collection of ancestral artifacts. I've been thinking about setting up a museum recently, but I never have time to get to that."

"Not his area, exactly," he glanced at her, noted his mother's shining eyes and added, solemnly, "Besides, Charles is a telepath."

"Oh," she fell into sudden silence, withholding her remark, but she recovered in record time, and announced resolutely, "That doesn't change anything. And all this time I was wondering why…"

The memory has shattered at that and he blinked awake. He was in bed, in his cabin onboard Union battleship, and the half-dimmed sphere was an unexpected pleasure for his sore eyes. He raised his head, as he became conscious of his surroundings and saw that someone had thoughtfully left a tray full of plastic food containers on the table in the corner. Anticipating a meal, he wanted to levitate the tray closer, but the effort was apparently too much: the tray shook and he dropped it back, as the abnormal headache wasted no time to return. Ever growing hunger pushed him out of bed and he devoured everything on the tray rather quickly. After a quick shower he put on clean navy uniform, the same that the officers were wearing, though without insignia and when the doors slipped open he hastened down the corridor and has nearly collided into Charles.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, catching the other's forearm to prevent Charles from losing his footing.

"I want to ask you the same," extremely pale Charles, looking like a weak gush of wind would have absolutely no trouble when sweeping him away, tried to get peremptory with him. "You should be in bed. I know what you did: overextension is not something that can go away overnight."

"When did you wake up? Who in their right mind let you out of bed?"

"This morning and I let myself out," grumbled Charles, eyeing two officers approaching them with unease.

"Let's go back, then."

"There are too many injured there, Erik. I'm already awake and fine. I'd just be occupying space, which is scarce as it is."

"Fine, come with me," with that Erik turned around and they have made their way back to his room.

"Alex and Armando are helping with repairs," told him Charles meanwhile, "they don't have enough people on the lower deck because of fire."

Doors slid shut after them, and here, in privacy, Erik has finally let go of his restraint. He dragged unresisting Charles to bed and pushed him down, fuming.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was, I am," he uttered through gritted teeth, felt the effect of anger like gathering electric force on his skin. "Can't you just stay put for a while?"

Charles did not at once reply, he obeyed with external humbleness and grace and was sitting there quietly, his eyes downcast, little willful tendrils of his wavy hair broken free, very rebelliously; Erik hoped, that posture was the indication of his guilt. He also knew that he was harboring false hopes. Bitter smile curved his lips, for he remembered his own guilt and his corresponding terror too well. He took hold of metal chair and dragged it to his bedside: he didn't use his powers, still distantly aware of slowly retreating headache. Erik sank into it and said for the sake of saying something:

"There is a very important reason behind all this. Am I right?"

"I knew you'd be angry, but I can't communicate with you telepathically for now, that's why I came searching for you. I wanted to tell you in person," Charles' gaze was as clear as ever, and Erik felt ashamed for his little outburst. "Well, I need to tell you that I've spoken with our captain, Logan."

"Wait a minute, he's been principal deputy before I fell asleep. Had I missed a mutiny?"

"The previous captain committed suicide."

"Damn."

"It's awful. It seems, his son died during that battle," he stammered, losing the thread of thought, but regaining it and his composure pretty soon. "You have to know that I've told Logan the truth," Charles raised one hand to massage his temple. "He suspected something anyway and, I believe, we reached understanding in the end. He is a good, reliable person, Erik. We can trust him."

"We'll see."

Charles looked up one more time, and, resigned, took his boots off, slipping under the covers and turning on his side, facing him. Erik figured he would be comfortable enough in soft hospital clothes.

"You too," Charles pointedly said, watching him expectantly.

When Erik lay down beside him, Charles snuggled closer and put his fingers on Erik's temple. The soft, feather-like touch sent a jolt through him and Erik's head has instantly cleared a bit.

"It will help with your headache, and, therefore, you'll regain your strength faster."

"I didn't tell you about my headache."

"I am reading your mind, I'm in everyone's minds right now, to be honest," Charles' electric touch lingered pleasantly and Erik shuddered, he recognized the sensation of the great stormy wave coming through his very essence that has once helped him so well, cleansing yet calming.

"I can't shield, I am so lucky that we are in space right now, and when I try to speak to someone via telepathy it hurts both parties," went on Charles, licked his lips and Erik's eyes immediately strayed to enticing picture, "Yes, Erik, I know that's how your fantasy usually starts."

Erik assumed the defiant attitude, he didn't want to apologize for that, he wanted Charles and found no shame in it, for his desire was surely reciprocated and thus reflected in the changed rhythm of Charles' heavy breathing, his half-lidded eyes, with pupils so wide they seemed black, to him — the most beautiful eyes in the entire universe.

"That's just one of many," Erik reached out, put his hand on Charles' nape, playing with his hair, applying a gentle press on his neck. In response to caress, Charles narrowed his eyes with content pleasure, stretching his body along Erik's and bringing his head closer.

"I like them, your fantasies," he said softly, between kisses, "I reckon we should not leave them unfulfilled."

"Yeah, that'd be such a shame."

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Their repose didn't linger. In a few hours, they got out of bed — Charles has jerked him out to be precise and notified that Logan was on his way to see him. Erik was reluctant to get up, more than upset that their tiny island of peace was suddenly corrupted by the intrusion. Any protesting was futile, seeing as Charles was already up and putting on his boots.

When doors slid aside to let Logan in, for a moment he stood, looking them both up and down, with a knowing smirk Erik could hardly endure if not for Charles' calming touch.

"What is the matter?" asked Erik quickly, beginning to perceive that it was indeed something serious if Logan came looking for him.

"Laying the course is the matter, your Brightness."

"We are closing in to Union base in this sector," put in Charles, helpfully, "but in the light of this ship's retreat from the battlefield, there are certain problems with reporting to authorities."

"Could have ratted on you," shrugged Logan and took a seat at the table, without a proper bid, "but blaming one telepath will do no good, it's quite tough to prove. Besides, that operation was foredoomed to failure from the start. Neither I want to let my people die, nor go to prison for treason, because some asshole in headquarters has made a tactical mistake, and just because we are soldiers doesn't mean that we can be treated like some fucking expendables."

An interval of silence was filled up by Charles standing up and walking to the panel; he tapped on the surface and the holographic map sprang to life, illuminating the cabin. He changed the settings and scale rate so their whereabouts in relation to planet systems was visible.

"You can dismiss your people as soon as we land on a suitable neutral planet," Charles offered mildly. "You have been fighting for three years now, to the best of my knowledge. There is nothing dishonorable in quitting, especially under these circumstances."

"Not all of them are that eager to quit, as surprising as it may sound to you," grunted Logan, his shrewd dark eyes were uncomfortably focused on Charles. "I'd rather stay and fight. I know others who would do the same. They know nothing else."

"I can offer my protectorate for those who will decide to stay," Erik moved to stand next to Charles. "If I am still a lord-governor of Valkar, of course."

Logan gave him a skeptical look, his countenance stiff. Erik found that he understood his reaction very well, for now they have touched the extremely hanging matter. Once he had the inclination to help these people, he wouldn't back out, notwithstanding. Charles conveyed his support by brushing the back of his hand, lightly, in token of encouragement.

"You can't figure out whose side you are on," Logan remarked at last.

"You know," replied Erik flatly, it occurred to him that he shouldn't be put out but darn it, what if he was, "I was out there fighting. But it's never enough, isn't it?"

"Let's put our differences aside for now, shall we?"

There was a curious combination of indisputable order and not so mild rebuke in Charles' voice, which has not failed to catch them both off guard and subdue them, the strength of it founded on his integrity alone.

"This is above all: to end this war. Nothing else matters as much as that. Hadn't both sides lost enough lives?" questioned them Charles, brimming over with disappointment and aggravation. "In your eyes war has something to do with virtue. But does it? It's not a magnificent competition in which you can indulge, it is not a sense of manhood. At least, I hope so, for the cost of this brutal, futile, senseless completion is always so unbearably high," he finished, as he brought his hand to cover his eyes, as if he was seeing something they couldn't. Perhaps, he was.

"There are, and there will always be individuals who have indulged in it, liked it, they will never care for anything else thereafter," slowly said Erik, deliberating his words.

"These are the great questions of the day, of course," broke in Logan, "but how about we get down to pressing tasks first, and then get to global."

"You are right," sighed Charles, "and, I suppose, Erik's offer is not the one you should refuse lightly."

"I get it, damn it," Logan leaned back in his seat and for the first time since they've met, Erik saw how tired and worn he was, underneath all that striking barbarity. "By the way, what is with the names?"

"Ah," Charles cringed and bit on his lip, shooting Erik an apologetic look, "it's my mistake. Anyway, it's not my story to tell."

Knowing well the condition Charles was in, it was no wonder that he slipped, Erik was wondering how he could form coherent sentences at all. Sooner or later this too watchful for his own good man would have guessed that something was amiss, so Erik has gave him a fill-in.

"Fine spun," commented Logan and turned to Charles, "Are you sure that he is the real Eisenhardt?"

"Absolutely," nodded Charles, "and I don't support him just because we share a bed, in case you have been wondering," he added dryly.

"Fucking mind readers," muttered Logan, "no offence, man."

"None taken," smirked Charles, suddenly amused.

Logan agreed after some deliberation. He asked Charles and Erik to join him in the war room later that day. There, they have been introduced to new principal deputy Munroe — dark-skinned native of Aria, a tall, composed woman without age, with long white braid and striking blue eyes, and the rest of the thinned out officer personnel, including sub-lieutenant Drake, reporting officer who introduced herself as Angel, and gave Erik the suggestive glance he chose to ignore, because ravenous women should look elsewhere, two quiet Versian navigators, apparently siblings, two flight operators, one of them, what a surprise, was from Valkar, as he mentioned in the introduction. Such was the silent agreement that Charles would be the one to deliver the speech. It was rather plain piece, boldly describing their predicament with the portal, further rescue, and the crew's options, explicitly explained in Charles' prudential, competent manner. Erik observed the audience attentively, due to the nature of the news he was expecting almost everything: above reasonable argument there were often foolishness and cowardice, small minds shrinking from exaggerated dangers and so on. And, who knew, but what stirred them was Charles' added bit about stopping war altogether, which has unexpectedly got everybody's full attention.

"Wars always serve to the advantage of others," said Munroe gravely, "but, however noble your intentions are, I don't see how you are going to make it true."

"It's easy," was Charles' instant reply. "Never take another person's life again and prevent others from doing it."

Erik felt himself very stupid suddenly, all his considerations, serious observations rubbed into his face with this candour, by the man whose mind remained planted above offences, despite everything.

"We have one battle cruiser," added Versian calmly. "What can we, mere detectors, possibly do?"

"We have a fleet," firmly said Erik and all eyes were on him. "And this is only a start."

Then, in two days, there was a funeral. Six caskets stood in the hangar, where the entire crew has gathered and it was finally time to repeat everything that has been previously voiced and discussed. All crew members were offered a choice — either they decide to stay onboard and thus accept the new course, possibly forming the core of the third, external party in the current war, or they were free to go, no questions asked, as soon as they reach neutral colony.

It appears, that the closest neutral colony was Zamfar. What a coincidence! In the memories of Erik Lehnsherr that was his dear home, land where his parents were buried, land where he spent his childhood years, some recollections of which were as bright and vivid as though he was in the high-quality dimensional projection.

Before landing, he searched the ship's mainframe for consolidated data on the colony: agricultural community was slowly going into meltdown; there was decline in the rate of population growth, but otherwise it was a quiet, ordinary human colony, which was expanding very slowly, unnoticed by the major nations and the Union itself, it has somehow obtained neutral status. To him this matter-of-fact data was meaningless. The need to see his old childhood town remained; at the same time he felt strangely bereft — like a blind man crawling through the darkness away from his empty past, but without a proper sense of direction.

"Are you sure that you want to go there?" asked him Charles, carefully buttoning up his navy jacket, the same like Erik's, without any insignia.

The question has brought him back to himself.

"Of course," he said, an affirmation fell easily from his lips.

Charles and he were reflected in the mirror. It was downright amazing how different they were in terms of constitution or facial features, not to mention temperament, and Erik, if asked some months ago, would never have guessed that he could feel so close to someone like Charles; that was one of the mysteries of the universe he had yet to uncover.

"Will you be alright?" he asked in his turn, glancing over at Charles.

_I'm already fine. Let's go, Erik._

His returned ability to exchange thoughts was a good sign, of course, even though Erik's inquiry had deeper meaning.

Charles put on black overcoat, it was rather chilly in their anticipated landing point according to weather forecast, and they went down to lower deck, where the final assembly was called to settle that issue — whether each separate crew member stays onboard, under Valkar's protectorate, or leaves the ship, and therefore Union army for good.

_There is no such thing as right choice in this case. I simply don't know __—__ should I be glad that they care enough to stay or, maybe, I need to envy wisdom of those who desert this hell._

Erik couldn't disagree.

The number of deflectors was not as bad as he initially predicted: they have lost only five men, among them one flight operator, everyone else decided to give their uncertain enterprise a chance, no matter how dubious it seemed.

There was a moment, when all of them gathered on the platform at Zamfar spaceport for farewell. It was past midday when they arrived and their shadows were growing under false cheer of sunlight, like dark smudges against light grey concrete. Charles and he were standing apart from the group, letting the goodbyes and occasional parting handshakes be exchanged. Frosty wind did its best to mess with Charles' hair, as he was watching an assembly with almost imperceptible crease upon his forehead and sad, forlorn abyss in his eyes.

After, Logan and Munroe approached them together.

"Thank you for your help, lord Eisenhardt," woman was considerately polite, with a note of chillness, which was actually good as far as Erik was concerned. Blind worship didn't settle well with him, he decided. His responsibility has simultaneously become even greater and lighter at the same time, for he had shared it with Charles. Had they turned up trumps or will they lead these people into trouble — only time can tell.

"We need to push stones first," Logan was blunt.

"I can lead you to people involved in black market deals, so that the price would be higher. If you give me some time."

"Isn't it too much for you?" Erik thrust hands deeper into his coat pockets, tricky cold started to get to him after moderate temperatures he was used to.

"We don't have any other means to pay for repair," shrugged Charles, a touch impatiently.

_I can feel that my range is greater than ever, Erik. Sometimes it is good when you push at your limits. _

While Charles was doing his job, Erik was idly feeling for the empty sockets on his bracelet, where the solar stones used to be. Maybe, he could remold it now or put in more gemstones later, they surely came in handy.

"How many days do you need to finish it?"

"The hell I know," Logan pointed at spaceport personnel with a jerk of his head. "It should take four or five standart days, a week maximum. Depends on their motivation," he cringed, "our ship has already been reported, for all I know. They are neutral only in name."

"Sir," Summers came up to them from the direction of the hangar, his pace very fast.

"You have bridge duty in five minutes," told him Logan, channeling some healthy dosage of mild threat. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to lord Eisenhardt. I'll be there, I swear."

"I will check," promised him Logan and left them alone, before nodding to Erik. "Keep in touch."

He and Summers have followed Logan's figure with their eyes, as the massive hulk of the ship hid him from sight.

"You don't have much time. Spill."

"I have heard that you and professor are going to the city. Can you please send message to my brother. I can't use equipment onboard, because captain — "

"Yes, I can."

Summers senior was the brother of the year, no, a century, most likely, Erik pondered, — the knight was always there to search and to rescue. Erik did send the alert message from the planet which has then got literally bathed in fire. Had they received it or not he didn't know.

_I think I got something what we might need. Will you wait a minute?_

Charles was talking to Munroe, rapidly gesticulating, and Erik watched them from distance, getting more and more restless. He wanted to leave the spaceport already, to visit his home town and set the record straight. And if some rational part of him has already known what he was going to find on site, the gross conception rising inside him could not feed on rationality alone.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help overhearing you, Erik," said Charles, briskly approaching him. "Maybe, you want to talk?"

He has also folded his overcoat around himself, as a protection from wind. His voice was imploring enough that Erik faltered minutely, almost giving in, and seriously considered getting it off his chest, but decided to keep silent instead.

By averting his eyes, Charles has given him a brief moment to regain his composure, although it seemed as if his entire posture was speaking — if you don't want my sympathy, what do you want then.

"We can rent a flyer here to get to the city till dark," explained the plan Erik.

"Sounds nice," Charles fell into step with him, and they started walking, shoulder to shoulder.

"Tonight, I can show you around the city if you like," Erik started to talk and in doing so was getting calmer at last. "Even if I had never truly been there before, you know what I mean, I do remember all the best sites. From the teenager perspective, of course."

"Well, I feel that I deserve a long aimless stroll right now."

He thanked Erik by a smile.

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That was one of those dreams that leave you petrified and bathed in cold sweat immediately after waking up, summoning archetypal fears, and wrenching your peace of mind inside out. After the pleasant evening, Erik hoped to see another recollection of the past acted out with his mute partaking. He got this instead.

Standing on the dark ground on flat, seemingly endless plain, overshoe in ash and creepy, red dust, he looked up at placid blue sky above. The sun was in zenith, its light was piercingly white, hurting his eyes, until it dimmed a little, engrasped by dark-red tongues, as though entrapped and forcefully busked with weird macabre crown.

"Fascinating. I have never seen a smoking sun before," said Charles' voice, rather matter-of-factly, and Erik turned around.

He saw Charles standing with his back to him a couple of steps away, but when he tried to come closer Charles' figure started to get farther and farther, though Charles himself remained motionless, just standing there and staring up at the strange phenomena. Blast wave hit him, and Erik felt like his skin was subjected to terrible sunburn, then, it started peeling off and he screamed in unbearable pain eating up his flesh. His eyes were watering and then burning too, eye balls leaking out, blood boiled in his veins, as he fell to his knees and then there was a moment of clarity, when the scene changed and he was standing face to face with himself, still reeling on the inside from being consumed by fire.

"Stop it, before it's too late," his doppelganger urged him, waves of dread coming from him. A bad sign, a very bad sign.

"Be more precise, darn you," scarcely got out Erik. His mirror image clearly thought he was being helpful. "Stop what?"

"Don't you see?"

The doppelganger suddenly appeared really close, quick as flash, and Erik saw that he had no face.

He practically jumped awake right after that, heaving like after a perilous fight, his whole body hurt like hell and Erik had to touch his face to make sure that his skin and eyes were still there. The aftershock. His mouth was filled with nasty taste of blood too, so freakishly true.

Faint moonlight spilled into their rented apartment through tall windows, and one glance at the other side of the bed: empty, with wrinkled sheets and pushed aside blanket, made his heartbeat increase again.

"Charles? Charles, where are you?" he called loudly in the darkness, hastily getting out of bed.

_Bathroom. Sorry if I woke you up. _

The reply was somewhat strained. Not reassured by it, Erik stalked through the living room only to see that Charles was already walking towards him.

"Erik, what's the matter?"

"A very bad dream," said Erik curtly, wincing internally at his choice of words.

Charles touched the sphere on the wall and gentle soft light swamped the living room, illuminating piles of traditional cushions scattered all over the thick mat.

"I have a bout of headache, quite strong, that's why I didn't hear you until you called," apologized Charles in a faint voice, as he sat down, cross legged, and Erik mirrored his actions too.

"I'll not be able to fall sleep again. Erik, you don't need to stay awake for my sake."

"You said you were fine."

"I was," Erik noticed that Charles' pale face was wet: droplets of water were sliding down his neck, hiding under the loose collar. "I used to have these spells when I was younger, and, apparently, they have returned due to my recent, hm, when I stretched myself too far."

"Is it normal?"

"Well, if you must know, telepathy does come with some inconveniences, though I must admit that comparing to the daily struggles of some other mutants it's nothing."

"Lord, stop this," you are driving me mad he wanted to add, but restrained himself. Erik ventured a good look around: well, at least with little amount of money they had, little in Union terms, they could afford a surprisingly decent place here. "Why exactly can't you sleep anymore?"

"To avoid certain side-effects," responded Charles regrettably, expression uncharacteristically drawn, "I know from experience that I shouldn't do it. I'd rather not be trapped in someone's dream as it happened before."

"Yeah, you're right," and he thought — I wouldn't want you in mine, like the one I had tonight, definitely not.

"You look very agitated. Will you tell me why?" Charles asked, this time insistently.

Quite inclined to keep silent, Erik wanted to refuse, but discovered that he couldn't, not now at least. It was hardly possible to shut off Charles like last time, so Erik did it, described his nightmarish world on fire without skipping any details. Charles was the only expert in this mind stuff, who he knew, really.

"It's out of the ordinary. I mean, since we have met I got used to my dreams recreating various memories, which got longer and more comprehensible, and then this all of the sudden."

"You are so stressed lately. No wonder that your mental equilibrium is also under pressure."

"I don't have precognitive abilities by chance, do I?" that certainly would come as a surprise, but who knew.

"As far as I know, you don't."

If this is the case, forget about that — he told himself.

"Come on, now. Let me try to help," Erik hunched over, taking Charles' hand in his own. He applied pressure where necessary, his fingers moving swiftly, touching skin, which was colder than normal, hence making his forehead contract in a frown.

Nestling down into pillows, Charles hummed contentedly. His eyes, steadily fixed on Erik, seemed to lose the hint of clouded greyness they had, and Erik reflected on the great value of picking up the smallest details like that. The surge of one-half selfish and one-half selfless pleasure he felt somewhere in the hidden corner of soul, at least he presumed that neglected bit was a soul, that feeling was simply startling. Startling in a good way.

"Thank you, my friend," Charles spoke slowly, thus each word was coated in the mellow warmth of his rich voice, "there is no place I'd rather be but here, with you. Please, excuse me my… mushy sentiment."

Hearing it was actually nice. Though some part of Erik wanted to cringe and take cover from these words alone.

"I wanted to ask you something for a while," Erik said, with certain haste, in order to smoothen away his hesitation. When Charles quickly nodded, agreeable, he went on, "Two things. The first one — how did we meet?"

"Uh, but you told me you already remember how you spent time at my house, that session when you had to represent you planet system in Council. You do remember that?"

"Of course, we wasted a lot of time playing a strange game in your study."

"Chess is not a waste of time," scolded him Charles, slightly scandalized, as he gestured with his hands to emphasize the words. "This game is the ancient practice for the strategizing and forecasting. Have you ever played? As you, I mean…"

"No, I didn't even know it existed."

"We definitely need to play a game. You will love it! I didn't interrupt you intentionally, by the way. So you are saying that you remember all of that but you don't remember our first encounter. You might have unconsciously retained it in mind, choosing to shelter from that particular memory. In fact, I may understand why," Charles raised himself upon an elbow and then sat up straight, "I dare not delve into your mind now, but — "

"Show me yours."

"I was just going to offer you that. One memory bit can't be harmful. Only, later."

"Of course, as soon as you are alright."

Then, Charles urged him to turn on projector and they had a game of chess, and then another one and one more till morning finally came. That second question Erik wanted to ask was forgotten. For the better, he presumed, because he, unlike his predecessor, had every intention to do everything he could, to make sure that their relationship, this burgeoning friendship they had, would not suddenly turn upside down.

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The capacity to fly without actually having wings was one of the best inventions of mankind. The progress in this field was tremendous: from flimsy airplanes the drawings of which he saw in the museums or ancient books to grand interstellar ships, furrowing the space, meeting new species, establishing new settlements and colonizing new planets. Tales of despair and uncertainty and those of majestic discoveries and advances alternated in order to form an intricate, complex pattern of the period, which was later called the Great Expansion.

Charles was operating their flyer, and he was doing it with fineness that spoke of natural talent and good instincts. So far they were heading south, flying over the vast expanse of low hills, filled with neat rows of trees, already vigorously blooming — spring time was on the rise in this area. At length, the character of the country began to change and towards noon they have arrived in a town by the lake. It was settled neatly in the valley, surrounded by the body of water from one side and high hills from the other.

Erik has read that a couple of decades ago little settlements like that were under threat: easy target for armed rogues, who habituated this galaxy sector after having been driven away from central planets by Union regular forces. He had the clear memory of that attack: could remember smoke, screams and fire, had witnessed his parents' demise, before the remaining bunch of survivors was rescued by the military, because someone had managed to send a rescue message in time.

After careful and lengthy deliberation, he came to conclusion that his memories were historically accurate, at least. Besides, Charles explained earlier that it was easier for a telepath to recreate something he or she has already seen or to add the necessary components over the old ones, thus rebuilding the structure of memories in such a way that real would be intertwined with fake. Erik had fully understood what he meant when he experienced it himself: previously he had had a vivid memory of burning himself at the age of seven when there was an accident at fertilizer station, where his mother worked. And at the same time he dreamt about the ship, shot down by assassins, when the rivalries between major Valkar clans had nearly initiated civil war in their planet system. As clear as day he remembered hybrids fussing over him in the wreckage, while he gritted his teeth, stalling tears of pain. That day he had sworn to himself, precisely, — he would never let himself show how badly it hurt. Thankfully his mother wasn't onboard that day, for she stayed in the Castle due to some last-moment emergency. Somehow, she put the damper on conflict before it spiraled out of control.

The flights inside the city limits were prohibited, so they walked the rest of the way. Erik took his time to look around. He appreciated Charles' silence.

"Everything is different," said Erik finally, when they were crossing the bridge, getting occasional stares from the population. He and especially Charles had spent too much time in space and it was showing for those with sharp eye.

And again, that irrational anxiety shaded with grief over the lost moments had entangled him, like some caricature black hole expanding inside and sucking vitality out of him.

"Maybe, we should visit Home of records first," suggested Charles.

"Later, I want to see the place where my house used to be. In my memories," he specified, perhaps unnecessarily.

They reached their destination in about ten minutes, and stopped before low stone building, which dominated the area even despite its moderate height.

"It looks older than, oh, sorry," Charles gestured to the holographic plate, decorating the gates, "it's the local educational establishment, right?"

Right.

"Erik," Charles tugged at his sleeve, "let's go."

_They think that we are some shady characters and that man over there had already notified civil patrol. _

Erik came to his senses when he was walking after Charles, who was forcefully dragging him away, having his hand clasped in a tight grip. Persistent fog took up the reins over his mind. Charles turned, loosened his grip and they slowed down. What was he even hoping for and why losing phantom life made him feel so crushed?

"I must see the records," said Erik.

While Charles was talking to a pair of horned natives, asking for directions, Erik was busy collecting the bits and pieces of his shattered world: he realized that even though he has seen his true home, the Scarlet Castle, even though he got accustomed to the fact that he was the last of the quite proverbial dynasty, that he had supernatural powers, darn, people were obeying him and hating him because of his old name alone. Yet, all abovementioned was of little to no significance and all because of that tenacious, tiny belief in his identity as Erik Lehnsherr, which was enormously difficult to weed, once and for all.

"Look here, Erik," Charles materialized in front of him. "I was able to find out that it is at the far end, uh, from here we currently are. We should get some transport. If you still insist on going?"

Erik only nodded to that. He was lucky that Charles didn't need actual words to understand people.

In the Home of records the personnel hindered their search, requesting at least dozen of various permissions from different levels of authority. Charles took one brief look at his expression, and, two seconds had not elapsed till the attitude changed drastically. The result was not slow to arrive: there was a family, which fitted the description, as both parent's jobs were the same, the circumstances of their deaths were vaguely similar to what he could recall, but it was documented that their son died not long after, underneath the wreckage. No matching names, nothing like that. Erik Lehnsherr was a fictional character, completely made up by someone else's will and masterfully implanted into his head.

Charles was saying something to him, probably for a while, but he was not listening on purpose. Instead, as soon as they exited the building and turned around the corner, Erik pushed Charles in the convenient alcove in the wall, partly covered by greenery, and kissed him, rather roughly and impatiently, pouring all his frustration into the kiss, as his hands started roaming under the hem of Charles' jacket simultaneously. Charles made a protesting sound, dulled by white noise in Erik's ears, and Erik didn't give it much of his attention, pressing him bodily into the wall. Charles didn't draw him closer, he didn't hug him as he would usually do — his hands were hanging limply. Well, it didn't matter. Erik put one hand on Charles' jaw, fixing him properly in place, and finally forced his mouth open.

_Erik, let's not do this. We are out in the street. You aren't in your right mind now._

That's just absolutely ridiculous, decided Erik, fingers busy with the stubborn buttons of Charles' garment. He longed for that special blankness of mind.

_No, listen to me, please. It will not help. This is not a remedy you're looking for._

Too much distress in his mental voice left Erik darkly amused. Apparently, Charles' philosophy of maintaining calm was not that effective.

_I said __—__ no!_

Suddenly, the day was sunny and warm again. They were in his memory birthplace, near Home of records, in the alcove outside, and Charles was standing a couple of steps away from him as far as the niche would allow. He appeared quite disheveled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm not your stress relief, Erik. Do not turn what we have into some kind of travesty," he steadily said, wincing almost imperceptibly in the end.

He lowered his hand and due to proximity Erik feasted his eyes — Charles' lips were delectably red and swollen, albeit there was a small incision on the lower lip, which looked like it didn't belong there.

Oh. Oh, lord.

Erik didn't know whether he was more repulsed with himself or merely nauseated. That carnal heat in him disappeared in a wink.

With stern eyes and very determined, Charles was simply watching him and then it occurred to Erik that he wanted to hear his response or remark. His many languages halting, Erik desperately looked around for the word he wanted.

"If I beg you to forgive me, I think, you shouldn't do it."

Charles' eyes widened a fraction and his lips parted in perfect manifestation of surprise.

"You were behaving in this way because you realized how bad the damage to your person was and how deep was the lie. You can't help it if your act angry, because it's, um, sort of natural."

Erik shook his head, so stunned that Charles was making up excuses for him.

"I'm not making up anything," Charles put on the expression of a person tired from senseless arguments. "I simply don't want — "

"To be used and treated like a set of functions," slowly finished Erik and the very fact that he managed to read Charles' unvoiced complaint didn't make him less despicable in his own eyes. "Was I doing that to you?"

"We all do it to others in tiny proportions, I reckon. We mustn't forget that we are dealing with living people though."

Charles was right of course. When he offered Erik to talk, he chose to ignore that offer. But after having all his identity believes crushed, Erik instantly chose to relieve the unbearable tension by doing exactly that, using Charles to channel his anger and frustration.

"You understand and that's the best apology, I'd say," smiled Charles earnestly, not breaking eye contact with him. "And don't be mistaken, my friend. I will forgive you, because I'm basically selfish — namely, I want you in my life."

Erik was disarmed.

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	8. The Blow

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Charles had the floor again, and both the setting, for they were currently on one of the secret Valkar moon bases, and also the audience, were quite different. But had Erik not known how worried Charles was in the morning, he would not have believed that this confident, calm man, who was equally passionate and rational about his cause was the same one who had been making terrible jokes all morning, who had missed the buttons on his uniform twice before Erik took pity and did Charles' jacket himself.

"No, of course, we can't eradicate all conflicts, we don't aim to, but to handle them with peaceful means is always possible. And it's always going to be a priority for any intelligent being," Charles batted crude sarcasm away by answering the question with unarmed honesty. "Just think about it, every military conflict, no matter how meager it may seem to the observer, holds pain, sacrifices, lost lives, shattered hopes and expectations. I refuse to believe that any kind of war is natural and that peace is a wistful dream that can never become a reality."

Erik was standing behind his right shoulder; he plainly refused to leave Charles' side during the meeting with officials and the inheritors of old noble clans. Let them see the descendant of the Imperial Dynasty standing side by side with a telepath. Hybrids were also ordered to watch over Charles, but he couldn't be sure enough.

And, it appears, their partnership had the same effect as a bomb would, suddenly going off and thus prompting the collision of the recognizable world with new, unprecedented matter. Mystique was fuming. Albeit silently. She always took far too much upon herself. Erik glanced her way, quick. He remembered then how his mother was laughing when three of them were in private, leisurely teasing Mystique for being perpetually jealous of her son. The realization that she might have been right coiled unpleasantly in his chest.

Slowly, the audience was getting more and more engaged, they didn't agree completely. Nobody expected them to do so. But the spark of interest was lit. Erik had a feeling that he was witnessing the miracle, completely unprepared for this kind of response. Darn, but Charles did it. Hence, it was no wonder that he itched to close the remaining little distance between them and spin Charles around, kiss him hard and deep, breaking all rules and officially becoming insane in the eyes of his people. Never one for tactfulness and excessive propriety, he nearly did it, if not for Charles' fond, but stern _no_, which he received in response to his thoughts. Presently, his no meant a lot for Erik. Not for the first time he mused how transparent he was for the other and what surprised Erik even more — he was okay with that. From the start he had unknowingly given Charles sanctions to what could be regarded as free access. He harbored no consideration that it must be somehow different. It just was.

That instant Erik received the projection in a form of mental embrace, followed by a heady rush of gratitude. A shiver ran down his back. He took a deep breath and after he swallowed down untamed lump, he studied his surroundings, subtly and quickly. Intuitively, he perceived that the discussion was coming to an end. Meetings on Valkar were always unbearably long, such was the customary practice.

"This is the general course as seen by our lord governor," Mystique stepped forward on his cue. "I know how you feel: confused, skeptical, some of you may be disbelieving. You ask yourself what you can gain. And this is exactly what I have been asking myself. However, our system needs a way out. And this active neutralism may be our unique way of stating our identity and our place in the known universe."

_They need time to think, I reckon. _

Erik met Charles' eyes and nodded. Afterwards, they left the conference room together, flanked by their hybrid guards.

"It went well," Charles' tone turned pensive, he absently worried his lip before continuing, "you were not expecting it to go so smoothly."

_Besides, I'm not sure whether by purposefully omitting the essential bit about my telepathy in the introduction we have done the right thing._

It was not a reproach. It was a mere fact. Erik knew the risks too well. He also knew that there were times for lie and times for half-truth. They were in the grey zone this time.

"Unfortunately, I know them and I know what prejudices, no, what patterns of thinking they have got. However, if you could get through to me, but, mind you, I'm still skeptical about entire non-military solutions idea," they turned around the corner and stopped in front of elevator. "You can do it. Who else? I'm honest with you, Charles. I'm not the person — "

"Erik," interrupted him Charles indignantly. That righteousness suited him so well, a special rare charismatic force that enabled Charles to attract and hold attention with perfect ease. "You have always been one of the kindest people I know. I'm a telepath, I can hardly be biased. It doesn't matter what you did in the past. You are worried about that, I can tell. Don't underestimate the influence of circumstances and, please, don't underestimate the good you have inside — that saddens me more than anything. I repeat that your potential is extraordinary," there appeared a note of bashfulness in his voice, and Erik couldn't believe his ears, "I've always been attracted to it. Your light… you mistake for dark. You have no idea how amazing you really are. You can become anyone you like, that's up to you, but I —"

As he set foot inside the elevator, Charles, visibly frustrated with something, lowered his eyes.

_I got carried away, forgive me. _

Only now Erik realized that hybrids were staring at them with open curiosity. Darn, no privacy for their master, right?

"Have you talked to your research team back home?" asked Erik, directing conversation into more conventional mainstream.

"Not yet. I will try to send them a message now," was Charles' response.

Tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes grew more pronounced. His hand inched to touch his temple in the familiar fashion, to rub at it probably, but Charles caught himself mid-motion and tugged at the high collar of his formal jacket instead, going for casual. This little gesture didn't escape Erik's attention.

"You must have a decent rest. We've spent the better half of the day debating and answering the questions. It must have been tough on you."

"No, not at all," responded Charles stubbornly with a shake of his head. "You're right, the sooner I contact them, the better. If we are really going to stop these hostilities we need some distinctive technological advantages. Also, we absolutely can't afford to draw this out; our intervention must be time-efficient. We strike, and we strike hard. I have an idea regarding that — what if we change the operational principle, remake this transporting technology into a part of the ship, the installment that will allow us to perform the impeccably controlled jump."

"There should be a team of scientists available in here. You will be in charge from now on. Also, there are plenty of laboratories on this moon you can use. But be careful," Erik warned, "don't let the same accident happen again."

"I'll be. I promise."

Elevator opened and Erik stepped forward. He hesitated, turning back to look at Charles and remaining guards.

"Erik, really?" Charles was not impressed. "You can't watch over me forever. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. We can't stick together all the time."

"It's Valkar, Charles," grimly reminded him Erik, awfully tempted to drive that fact into Charles' bright head by physical means if necessary. "Trust me, when I don't want to let you out of my sight, I have solid reasons for that."

Their eyes locked, like different kinds of steel collided, and then, in a heartbeat, Charles seemed to understand, as his expression steadily grew solemn. That instant Erik felt gentle incorporeal touch, a wave of Charles' power, almost fleeting, like a kiss to his brow. The telepathic demonstration of affection was still new, so he faltered and when he did, elevator doors slid shut.

He had arranged one more meeting with his generals and had to hurry. Punctuality means a world for these people.

After more talking and more persuading, and some threats he finally got to his temporary quarters and found there Mystique and Logan. The latter's burly frame was occupying Erik's armchair as his dark eyes were glued to his second in command. She, in her turn, was leaning against the wall, nimble fingers flying over her touchpad. The air was literally sparking thanks to abundantly generated tension.

I don't care — decided Erik immediately.

"What do you want with me? I do hope that it's something important."

"My lord, Herlir is going to attack our sector, maybe not Valkar itself, but one of the outer planets for sure," Mystique pressed the button and a hologram appeared.

"When?"

"Soon."

"That's very vague," thoughts in his head revolved around possibilities and their fire power. He didn't like the odds.

"That's the best our intelligence division could get," Mystique noted with appropriate gravity. Her shifting yellow eyes were challenging him. "I told you that we'd be next, didn't I? Now it's too late to sever the treaty. Our chance is gone."

They couldn't afford to lose any of the outer planets. There were mines and ship constructing factories on Tron, not to mention multiple colonies under artificial domes on Leasur. The success of all their future operations depended on whether they would finish new line of battle cruisers in time or not.

"Your suggestions, Commander? I know that you have at least one," he paused to exchange glances with Logan.

"You have to use it, your legendary demolisher," there was a dangerous undercurrent to her choice of words.

"No, I don't have to. Not now."

"His Brightness is right," Logan said, "it should be used when there is no other choice."

"Hm, I wonder whether it exists," her eyes slid away and found the floor.

"Trust me, it does," thick cold was seeping through him. Erik didn't plan to say anything, yet some fleeting coaxing, from deep within, made him. "My dear, it can extinguish stars, along with your doubts, of course."

"My lord," she slowly said, uncrossing her arms, "I was not doubting your legacy. Now, if you excuse me."

She bowed briskly and left, having passed Erik her touchpad on the way out.

"I was told that we need you in person to approve of any ship modifications," finally explained his presence Logan.

"I've given an order."

"Apparently, it's not enough."

"Fine. Come with me," he briefly looked through the data on the touchpad, while they were going up the longest escalator he'd even seen.

The names and faces at the beginning of her report were already familiar for everyone on the galaxy net. The red-headed beautiful woman, who called herself the Empress, an extremely powerful telepath, and Sebastian Shaw, the Supreme Commander, man with thin features and shrewd eyes, also reported to be a carrier of frightening mutation, no further details. His fingers froze over the screen when he scrolled to the last pages.

There were recordings.

"They say that their higher-ups had practiced torture and unethical experiments from the start. Mostly captured mutants and non-humanoids, ordinary humans are considered expendable," grumbled Logan, after Erik has turned off ear-piercing screams.

"Propaganda?"

Logan's smirk came out twisted and angry. He didn't answer at once. Well, he most certainly didn't need to. The Union, too, could boast a lot of dark and dubious behind the sleek and fancy façade of the proclaimed liberties. That deserted facility which earlier housed them for a night was a sure proof.

"This is one of the reasons why I'm siding with you two. There aren't any sides, indeed. There is just slaughter."

Erik frowned. He looked down and noticed how tense his grip on the device was.

People will be shocked when, on the net, they see this undeniably authentic rec of the nameless man getting his skin peeled off with the meticulous introduction, which started with Shaw telling a viewer that every mutant traitor will not be spared. But they would continue to watch in any case, their prohibitions broken, inhibitors be damned, realized Erik. Often he noticed that natural resistance and repulsion were feeble where suffering of others was concerned. His next immediate thought — Charles was not going to take it well — increased his growing concern.

"Why mutants again?" he was not asking anyone in particular, but Logan answered nonetheless.

"Because it is so damn easy. Going after the most obvious target."

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In his opinion, this was a sound tactical decision, a bit against the tide of his generals' estimation, but it was necessary. That's why when the battle for Tron started Erik was not onboard his flagman cruiser. He was in the captain's chair of former Union ship, remodeled under his guidance. Five standard hours have passed since the beginning of the battle. Valkar cruisers were forced back and occasional enemy fighters were breaching orbital defenses, thankfully shot down by long-range space cannons.

"Enemy battle cruiser, exterior left-flank, is put out of action," reported Mystique's deputy through open channel.

"Don't pursue it, let them go."

Darn, time and again he caught himself marveling at the most illogical order on the battlefield ever uttered by the sane commander.

Earlier, he explained why they were only aiming to disarm, not to destroy enemy vessels and why it was so important that only highly skilled crews could participate in the operation. And though his homeland lacked up-to-date ships, it didn't lack soldiers, the traditional training standards remained, obediently carried out from generation to generation.

"Incoming," gasped Angel.

The realization has kicked in — if we perform an evasive maneuver in this formation, it will hit the old cruiser behind us. Darn, its shields were frigging nonexistent by now.

"Force shield one hundred percent," Erik didn't tear his eyes from multiple screens while the command was repeated, with added _everyone brace yourself_ by Munroe.

Even shadowing of observation screen didn't protect them from sharp, eye-watering light as the following collision shook the hulk of the ship. Its metal groaned in protest, muted by space, heard only by Erik. He felt the impact deep in his bones, echoing strong, and clutched the armrests.

"Report the damage," to Munroe and to Mystique, "Be ready to proceed with our plan, wait for my command."

"Depressurization in the left wing, left engine is at ten percent. We will not survive the second blast."

"We're practically there. Hold on," he had to snarl, his breath caught at the pang of extreme agitation. It had better work.

Enemy ships stopped diving out of portals at last. To the outside observer it was clear that Valkar fleet was on the verge of defeat. And their new no-killing tactic was still too confusing to comprehend.

"We're coming into contact with orbiting garbage in three, two, one."

"Slow down, pretend that we're going to enter atmosphere. Switch to emergency generator. Shields at maximum."

Orange sphere of Tron with irregular stripes of white and red was a pretty, bright sight against the dark of the space and red meteors of falling ships. When they passed the garbage, Erik started the countdown. Neat line of Herlir ships, properly thinned like predicted, breached the necessary margin. They were feeling victorious made an educated guess Erik.

He said then, calmly:

"Activate magnetic mines, now."

Mines hidden in the orbital garbage were something new they have come up with only recently. They were particularly aimed at damaging all sensitive equipment, a less deadly way to stop the assault, without killing too many. Still, deaths could not be avoided.

Erik's eyes were glued to the screen: multiple reports resonated in his ears, helping to form the mental map of the battlefield, which he was going to leave with victory and honour.

"Sir, they're hailing us, asking to talk to the Commander."

Munroe tilted her head, she was uncertain and Erik could understand her very well. She was expecting the baiting and hassle. Years of this war have properly taught Union soldiers that negotiations were never in play — so said Logan earlier.

"Drake, redirect it to the war room," he met his deputy's eyes and she nodded, standing up from her station, ready to follow him. Mystique will have to deal with remains of the enemy fleet on her own for now. No matter how sick of talking he already was that part was absolutely inevitable.

"You will also come along, ensign. Don't make us wait, Drake," ordered Erik and spared him a brief glance.

Munroe has stiffened up, surprised, but Erik didn't feel like explaining that he actually found Drake rather useful, especially after having looked through the personnel database. Even Charles was more than excited — his potential mutant powers put Drake in one line with the strongest mutants ever recorded. And he was alright, quite disciplined and efficient, enough to earn Erik's reluctant acceptance.

When they stepped into the elevator, Drake, diligently staring at the panel next to Erik's elbow, has plainly dared to ask:

"Excuse me, sir. But what do you need me for?"

"You're going to keep your ears sharp and your eyes open," this spontaneous decision was something Eisenhardt was rebelling against, but it was essential for Erik to trust his gut feeling. Like he did with Charles. Or like he did when facing his people.

The jamming was distorting the image, the enemy's communication systems must have been down too. Isn't it good news? Their admiral was female, with hard dark eyes and cool voice. She was on the bridge, that much was clear, as personnel in red uniforms was occasionally crossing the background of what looked like insides of a heavy cruiser. The sounds of automatic alarm were muted yet present, as well as annoying flashes of red reflected from sleek surfaces.

"Admiral le Grir is hailing you. Lord governor," she started at once, intentionally dropping his name, a sign of badly veiled disregard that was indeed sort of amusing. "What kind of joke is this message about?"

The thin line of her lips tightened even more.

Erik realized that he was actually smiling. The effect of his smile proved to be rather unsettling if one took cues from his respective audience.

"We're in the process of creating an alliance as you may see. Everyone who shares our new political view and ideology is welcomed to join. You are defeated," he flatly pointed out, not missing the way her mouth twitched at that. Strongly wishing to get his point through, Erik continued, "Therefore, we are to call into requisition your ships and any weaponry, personal included, and we will," he paused, had to clear his throat, "let you go afterwards, unless you decide to join our cause."

"How do you even imagine that?" admiral asked him blankly. Her voice dropped a little, revealing disbelief. "Do you know what orders we have when it comes to captives?"

"I do have this information."

Next to him, Munroe sucked in a sharp angry breath. It instantly got a great deal chillier in the room.

You're fucking unhinged — was screaming the admiral's expression as she adjusted her headpiece and in doing so lost her cool for a brief moment.

"If you have any questions, my deputy, lady Munroe will provide you with necessary explanations."

"I don't," she stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes. "You've got lucky this time. Herlir will crush your nest of delusional loons soon. I don't understand why Commander bothers. Valkar will fall. It's a fact."

She ended the transmission.

"She doesn't plan to initiate self-annihilation sequence, does she?"

Drake expected anyone to give an answer to that?

Erik had the urge to smash something, but he just let his pent-up frustration leak into his short affirmative yes.

"She may issue that order, but it doesn't mean that the rest of captains will obey. This is the extreme resort. I don't understand them at all. Are they really that brain-washed? Loyalty is important, and there is military tribunal, but," Munroe placed her hands flat on the table, frowned, "at least, you'll stay alive. You'll live one more day in this world be it good or not."

Right, Munroe was kind; he had not noticed it before, but now, looking at her lowered head, Erik did. Pursuit of the military career was the worst decision she could have ever made.

"Drake, send Commander Mystique this record and tell her to keep the safe distance."

"Already done," Drake didn't tear his eyes from the holographic touchpad he activated as soon as the talk was over.

"Good. Any more messages from our adversary?"

"No, there's nothing, sir."

When he and Munroe were almost at the doors Erik heard Drake half-whispering:

"They say that on L'har there is a giant machine that allows their Empress to amplify her telepathy so that she may control and influence as many minds as she wishes."

"You must stop listening to Angel's gossiping, Bobby," she gave a tired sigh this time and the sliding door cut off Drake's hushed reply.

New technology, thought Erik, feeling more than a little annoyed. Hopefully, it was only that — a gossip, a legend. But portals and telepathic ships also seemed to be creations of someone's overexcited imagination. Only, they were quite real.

Herlir Empire. The wording was just so wrong.

Valkar used to be the Empire, but it had been built during thousands of years of tough conquests, long voyages and tradition. And in this case, as a matter of fact, a couple of Union colonies have started a rebellion, generously fueled by the richest corporations of the Union itself and some influential families. Erik would wager that such full scale war was not really pre-planned. It was too damaging. In the political and financial sense. There was something else behind plain warmongering: some potent influence could be detected. Unfortunately, that something else was out of his grasp.

He stayed in the war room after the failed negotiations, monitoring everything and diving orders from there. Two thirds of captured enemy ships have chosen self-annihilation instead of surrender. Even Mystique was taken aback a little, though she swallowed her surprise. She was a survivor like Erik. So he could understand her shock very well.

After the battle, numbness and lethargy were the first to arrive. Partially, Erik was dragging out his stay here, in this isolated chamber, on purpose, and, it seemed, now was the right time. He accessed his private channel and there it was — the message he was anticipating.

Charles and he could not even speak properly these days, not to mention absent possibility of any meeting, as Erik had been currently working on reorganizing the fleet and getting ready for next enemy attack and Charles was stuck in the laboratory on the other end of Valkar system. They have hardly spoken due to hectic schedules, but Charles, no matter how drained and tired he visibly was, has made leaving Erik these brief messages a habit. So, every day Erik had something to live for.

And for Erik watching them became an essential ritual, his very personal bit of goodness, though, truth be told, he seldom recorded anything himself, feeling irrationally inadequate when speaking to Charles as if he was there and knowing that he was far away, out of his immediate reach.

As usual, Charles smiled at him from the screen, albeit with less joy and much more weariness. His floppy hair, trimmed shorter, was scarcely covering his ears now and that new look made Charles deliciously ruffled. Having not seen him looking like that before, Erik began to lean forward, almost involuntarily, so eager he was to run his hand through soft, dark strands just like Charles was doing right now, unaccustomed to new length, perhaps.

"I don't know what about you, my friend, but I've had a terribly busy day. I know that you'll probably not watch it in time, but anyway I wanted to tell you that our tactic is foolproof. I'm sure you will protect Tron. I," Charles tilted his head, contemplating something, "I wish I could be there with you. Not that you don't know that." Then, the curve of his lips got a touch mischievous, as a familiar spark turned the blue of his eyes vividly bright, and he added. "Logan is getting used to his new responsibilities. From the start, I dared presume that your decision to leave him in charge of special security had something to do with, hm, some sort of revenge. His early distrust in you was indeed troublesome. But, I must confess, I was wrong."

No, you weren't, Erik felt that the corner of his mouth tugged upwards on its own. Oh, Charles.

"I hope to see you soon, I do owe you a memory," there was a noise in the background and he craned his neck back to look at one of the hybrids, who suddenly approached Charles and hissed something Erik didn't catch.

"Oh, yeah, thank you. Tell them I'm on my way," Charles muttered; he turned around and smiled in such a way that it contained everything: starting from apology and quiet longing to unwavering resolve. He slouched in his seat, minutely forgetting himself, and then straightened his posture again. "I'm sorry, Erik. This is urgent. By the way, you must know that I've convinced Hank and the rest of my colleagues to join us. Tomorrow, I'll send you the proper report on our progress. It's almost done: at the moment, we are working on shielding the vessel from harmful radiation. I really have to go now. Please, stay safe."

After the screen went blank, Erik briefly closed his eyes, to ensure that the image and Charles' voice get firmly imprinted into his memory. If they are already working on shielding, it means that any day now a new groundbreaking technology will let Valkar ships jump through colossal distances in milliseconds. That must turn the tables. If not, Erik would ask Charles to forego all concerns and draw the location of his ancestral weapon from his messed-up mind. Wishful thinking was dangerous and yet Charles' optimism was apparently of the contagious kind. The mere concept of taking a stand against two world superpowers has recently started to lose the insane undertone. Erik never believed that a few people can bring forth such grand change, but, he straightened up and his eyes have found an engraving on the opposite wall — a two dimensional, plain map of the known universe. Well, a few people are all who ever care.

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Summers junior approached him when he was busy talking to Mystique. Erik shot him a glance. Hybrids didn't let him close, so the ensign stood still, maintaining safe distance, and, to his credit, not betraying his discomfort.

"If you want to come back to Valkar, you may use my cruiser. I'm going there in a day. I want to have the D-drive installed as soon as possible."

Erik didn't know who came up with a name. Certainly, not Charles. He would have used something more sophisticated. But everybody was calling it D-drive and, for better or worse, it clung.

"I'll think about it," he levelly said. "I planned to wait for my ship to come back."

"What is so special about that light cruiser? Except, that it's so far the only Union ship we have under command," suddenly Mystique smiled, "I see, I've just answered my question."

"Exactly," Erik wouldn't lie — he appreciated her ability to think out of the box.

"Besides, your," he frowned after she stammered, correcting herself midsentence, "your friend has helped us greatly," she finished neutrally. "I thought you are one of those who make decisions once and for all. But, Max, now I truly see how much you take after the Empress. It runs in the family."

He didn't expect that. Erik also didn't fully understand what she meant, but he was already quite adept at constant pretending.

"Should I be flattered?" he plainly asked, guarded all the same.

"It depends," she grinned and a ghost of a faded memory in which he and a blue-skinned wicked girl were hiding from hybrids in the cockpit together has almost overlapped her adult features for a millisecond.

She saluted him as she bid farewell and Erik watched her departure carefully. He didn't believe in abrupt and convenient change of heart, neither he believed a politician, who had tried to play her own game once and nearly succeeded in obliterating the painstakingly built fragile peace. He remembered the consequences too well. Darn, he would give anything to have Charles' gift for a moment or, better, have Charles by his side.

"Alex?" he called, voice echoing strangely due to empty space inside the closed hangar, and Alex perked up immediately. "Come here."

"I'm not sure it's a smart move," tried to joke the other, looking askew at Erik's guards.

"It's up to you," drily replied Erik, without missing a bit.

"Okay. Tell them not to touch me, all right?"

"You may want to scare this young man a bit, but no damage," he used the old dialect and, unperturbed, patiently waited for entertainment.

They walked back to the spaceport registration hall together and Alex tried to keep in his fuming meanwhile. He was not that dumb to let Erik's trick go overlooked; he was dumb enough to complain though:

"You did it on purpose," he scowled, fighting the revulsion. However, his next words surprised Erik. "Is it safe to talk here?"

Erik swept his eyes around the massive hall, cringed at the lights reflected from every sleek surface and general overwhelming whiteness of the place. The night shift was almost over, so it was mostly devoid of personnel, and he decided that they'd draw more attention to themselves in case Erik demanded a secure cabin somewhere here.

"Yes."

"My brother wants to meet you," quickly explained Alex. "Don't worry, I didn't contact him first, he found me. It's a family trick we used while on the net when we were little —"

The picture is getting bigger — thought Erik with a sort of grim delight that turned his insides into liquid fire.

"Skip the details," he cut in, on the right side of rude. Something was telling Erik that they didn't have much time and he would be damned but his intuition has never failed him before.

"Fine. I swore my loyalty to you, sir. I'm not going back on my word, but Scott is, well, he is pretty tough, I guess. Even before knighthood, the bastard has always been good."

"I understand."

Erik recalled the tiny black box, priceless nanomachines, resting in his inner pocket. It was a gift, more like the apology for letting Charles get hurt. That man was taking his vows earnestly to the extreme.

"I will meet with him," he agreed.

"Okay," Alex didn't look relieved in the slightest. He grimaced, troubled. "Here comes the difficult part."

"I'm aware. We'll meet incognito. Where and when?"

"Is there something in this sector called Tahoku?"

"A lot of things," remarked Erik idly.

"It must be a city or a moon base. Something on the solid ground."

"I think," Erik had to pause as his memory was reluctant to obey when it came to the historical chronicles of the Great Expansion. "Long time ago, our neighboring system had a planet named like that. It was renamed after revolution took place in the capital colony."

"You remember all that ancient crap?"

"At least someone here can get around without referring to mainframe every time."

"I'm actually rather ashamed," laughed Alex with the ease of youth, careless what the others might think of him.

A possible ally might join them, hence Erik couldn't spare so much time when every single hour was crucial. Next Herlir attack will be fiercer and stronger than ever. That man does better who prevents the disaster, not caught by it. After some deliberation, Erik has asked Mystique to postpone her trip and stay in charge of fleet reformation. When she agreed he didn't waste much time and soon he was crossing the site area to the west of the main spaceport, tailed by Alex. Upon coming closer to the interstellar fighter of their choice, Erik has heard someone calling Alex's name. Don't turn around he begged silently and his companion did just that, of course.

Disguised as a trooper, in full body gear, Erik did want to leave Tron undetected, just two of them on a solo mission. And now Alex, with his extremely sketchy idea of secrecy, had to give the game away.

He gathered that Munroe and Drake had some business with Summers. By all means, he should have known better. His helmet's visor was down, mirroring white light of the rising star, so Erik doubted that he would be recognized. Their ancient Valkar was a majestic star, its rise — a sight to behold even on the edge of the system.

Munroe had barely glanced his way as she caught up. Both of them abandoned their helmets and it was hardly wise, considering that the atmosphere on Tron was artificial. Erik has noticed that brand carelessness of Union soldiers long ago. Well, lucky of them not to have been stranded anywhere farther than the Outer Rim. Such experience provides a great lesson in precautions.

"Alex, may I have a word?"

"I'm really in a hurry," started shaking his head Alex.

"We know," blankly said Drake. "I'm going with you. Our deputy supposes that you need some backup."

"I haven't known you very long," Munroe intruded again, presently looking only at Alex. "Also, I don't want to pry into what doesn't concern me. But why don't you take Bobby with you? I'm sure even lord Eisenhardt wouldn't say no."

Erik was holding his tongue. He foresaw that it would be difficult to get rid of those two without causing a scene. With a jerk of his chin he gestured for Alex to hurry up and started walking away. Erik didn't need to elaborate his agreement further for he heard the matching echo of two pairs of feet right behind his back. It prompted an inner struggle between mild echo of exasperation and strange gratitude, spiced with cynicism. Since then had they become a team? Erik, for once, had missed the occasion completely.

"Don't get mad at him, man," Drake was saying from behind him, "she had driven Darwin into the corner, I saw with my own eyes."

Alex muttered something incomprehensible. Erik, in his turn, has arrived to the obvious conclusion that the one who told Munroe about their little trip was no one but Munoz.

When onboard, Erik took the pilot's seat and checked all systems. This model of fighter was not designed to carry many people, but, he figured, they were not going that far to care about supplies and such. While he was directing the jet up, gradually increasing speed, two ensigns were silent. They almost didn't speak; all of them seemed to be waiting for something to occur as the fighter has left Valkar system and thus the relative safety provided by patrol ships.

Before they left Tron Alex has passed him coordinates, which looked like a mumbo-jumbo of figures and occasional letters and Erik got to work, not trusting mainframe, relying on his own memory and skills whenever it was possible. They covered the remaining distance very fast. Only twice there were unfamiliar ships on the radar and both times the boost in speed and screening helped them to avoid detection.

"Don't they have any air force control here?" Drake got curious when Erik led their fighter straight ahead.

"None. The colony is half-abandoned. You will see for yourself," Erik guided them through heavy clouds, slow and steady.

On the deeper level he was already starting to feel the magnetic field of the planet. The clouds disappeared suddenly and now they were flying over a grey rocky plain with patches of snow here and there.

"Rocky planets are so dull," remarked Alex. "I bet anyone finds it a hell to live on."

They landed next to the huge rock, shaped like an animal roaring up at the sky, and from there they proceeded to the colony, which was spread in the valley, on the banks of the volatile and loud river, free of dams and other human shackles.

There was something unsettling in the somber ruins of the city, down the streets of which murmurs and screeches could be heard. There were shadows which vanished as suddenly as they appeared as the ex-colony unfolded before their eyes like a rotten fruit. Erik knew that there were people there, poor bastards not being able to afford a journey or criminals hiding in the deserted area, mainly smugglers and such.

The sky was pressing down on them, threatening, but they have not encountered anyone so far. It's the gear, decided Erik, turning on the ultrasensitive sensor in his helmet. It has immediately colored world differently, infra-red detector outlining the hunched figure to his left, where everything he was able to see before was just a pile of salvage and something that looked like a wreck of the flyer.

Faint life signatures flickered in the distance, where the dome towered over the surroundings and that was the very place they had to enter according to decoded coordinates.

"Sir," Drake sounded like he struggled with his equipment. "Fuck, what's that noise?" His corresponding mumble died out.

"I don't hear anything," grumbled Erik.

"Oh, it's already fine. I have a suggestion, sir."

"Yes?"

"It's better if I go there alone and report."

Erik entertained an offered idea for a moment. That was so by the book. Very reasonable.

"No, Drake," he said then. "We are going there together. I'd rather go alone, to tell the truth, so you are to stand back. Mind that and stay out of my way if there is a trap. We all have offensive powers and we have never fought together," and you're basically children — here he imagined Charles berating him for such thoughts and he instantly felt better.

Of course, on the fringes of the square separating the dome from the rest of the city they were surrounded by a dozen men and women, humans with phasers and even one heavy blast launcher, carried by the bulky meaty something. Erik waved his hand and weapons flew up, out of the reach and turned, aimed at their previous owners.

"Get out of the way!" said Alex and despite the fact that the Union language he was using has never been traditionally studied in these sectors, everyone got the message. Good old threat is truly universal, smirked Erik, privately, as they marched in.

Orange light was shimmering inside the dome. Erik raised his head — the hive-like structure was probably the local variant of the apartment block, the likes of which he had seen on the highly populated Creamenia. Most of the chambers were dark; light dots were mostly scattered in one section.

_You are late._

Erik narrowed his eyes, his shields sprang up immediately.

_Relax,_ he heard, _it's already difficult to talk to you as it is._

It should be — he pushed at the telepath, who sent him the impression of the ghostly laugh in response.

"Damn, Emma," Alex's startled voice cut through, "er, Your Honour, excuse me. I didn't expect to see you here."

Before they turned around the corner and faced them, Erik already knew who he was going to see. So, two knights instead of one today. Lady Emma Frost was a former head of Psionic Corps, a notorious politician and the first knight appointed by her Majesty.

Summers bowed, only slightly, and then turned to his brother. To Erik he looked as if he wanted to throttle the junior on the spot.

"Scott, you can punch him all you like later," a blond, dainty woman put her hand on his forearm, motion smooth and strangely caring for her icy persona.

"Lord Eisenhardt," she openly stared at Erik with cold blue eyes. And Erik found that her storied beauty and poise were not that exaggerated. "Scott and I are ready to listen to what you have to offer."

Up till that moment Erik realized that he was mentally cataloguing escape routes and ways to counter a full-scale telepathic attack.

"And the reason is?"

_The Queen's dead,_ _it's not announced to general population yet,_ said she plainly and Drake gasped in shock. _Knights are being disbanded and Council is going to let its Speaker take the reins._

"Let's get down to business, then," Erik didn't miss her instant surprise, mixed with suspicion, when he collected all images, carefully catalogued arguments and speeches and, like Charles has taught him, just put them on the forefront of his mind for her perusal.

That was, perhaps, the briefest parley in the world.

Summers shook his head, and Erik, merely tired of typical reaction, only shrugged.

"If what Emma has shown me is true, you're in for a crazy escapade," Alex made an impatient gesture and the knight shook his head again. "No, Alexander, you misunderstood. I will join you. This is something I've been thinking over for a while. Not to such extreme, however."

"Good," it became evident to Erik that both of them were trying to escape, looking for opportunities. He sincerely hoped they hadn't killed the Union monarch, if so, that was going to be troublesome. As yet, the perspective to obtain more seasoned generals should pay off in the future.

Drake was the first to notice.

He suddenly stopped and extended his hand forward.

"I don't know, but —"

Ground grew icy around him and spikes of ice darted forward to the exit in time to intercept the projectile.

Erik cursed as he lowered down his visor; he didn't feel any new metal.

Ice was melting with angry hiss as thick white smoke filled the air. Toxic gas. The sensor in his helmet activated automatically, red alert message flashed before his eyes, annoying.

_Scan horizon and engage at will. I can't detect the enemy telepathically. _

That bossy… Erik kept other epithets to himself. Her words were still echoing in his head, while he threw himself up in the air, tugging at an invisible web. That spot there Frost and Summers were last seen suddenly erupted in explosion. Something whooshed past Erik's shoulder, nearly taking his head off had he not dove lower and he hailed that something with bits of wreckage he pulled from the ground.

There were anguished screams, wailing. Gas got at the people in the dome.

Damn, his mind was not apt to conceive any plan, except leading their attackers out. He made sure that the telepath had heard him and made a dash to the exit. Infra-red vision let him see a human form just below, motionless. Alex. Erik swooped down to pick him up and grunted at the additional strain. From above, a part of the dome was this close to crashing down, burying them under the shards and metal wreckage.

_These are the robots. I've never seen such model before. Get out of there quickly, we're already outside._

The square they have previously passed was covered in craters with smoking edges and occasional icy stalagmites. Frost, face and hair covered in smudges of dust and ashes, was kneeling down, holding Summers, whose bloodied head was resting in her lap.

"Where is Drake?" he rasped, urged by never-ending inner alarm, and upon hearing him Drake jumped from icy column right in front of him. His suit was all covered in frost-mist cracks and he had lost his helmet.

"They adapt to our powers," said Drake breathlessly. He got his hands full with unconscious Alex in a beat, because Erik was busy building up a shield around them all and trying to access their fighter's mainframe simultaneously. There were urgent messages waiting for him, causing him to falter for a second, but Erik was more than resolved to get out of here. As soon as their fighter hovered over the square Erik has pulled all of them in and batted down the hatch. While Drake took over piloting he helped Frost to deposit Summers brothers in the small cabin and spent the better half of an hour stabilizing them both.

So they fled, barely.

All in all, Erik dragged himself into the pilot's seat afterwards, ordering Drake to go and get some rest, and then he plugged in the net, familiar gloomy ripples of unease were still dilating within him. It was possible that by picking up those two he's just got himself an obnoxiously nasty deal.

Not expecting anything remotely good, he tapped at the first message, got the miniscreen unfolded.

"We've got a problem, sir," Munroe announced grimly, without delay. "I was authorized to tell you that on the way from Valkar to Tron our convoy was attacked. Commander suspects that saboteurs infiltrated officer ranks of those ships. There is almost no doubt that Herlir is behind this," Erik stared at the screen, sure that she was not done. She, not quite soldierly, bit on her lip. "Professor Xavier is considered missing in action for now —"

The message continued to play when, at the same time, inside, where unease was before, the dark, lurid dread was blooming now; it was softly suffocating him while all colors and sounds have been fading into background. But, unfortunately, that spine-chilling sensation was not allowed to linger, for there was no way he could pour forth his anger, so Erik made up his mind to stop.

Be rational, he told himself.

And solely focused on multiple reports waiting for him he kept working. On and on.

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	9. The Doppelganger

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All day long he was passing on and on through the dark, so he was getting used to the eerie absence of pain. And just because everybody expected him to act in a certain way, he couldn't find it in himself to do that. Logan, more than anyone, deserved at least a punch, a bloody beating would have been even better. But as all eyes were watching him with rapt attention, Erik felt, he was already past physical violence. And, moreover, grim satisfaction at the sight of blood would be brief in any case.

Here, in the war room onboard his flagman, he was sitting at the head of the long steely table in silence, which was borderline stifling. And he was thinking very hard.

"Again, explain me what happened," Erik asked.

Emma Frost was occupying a seat to his left, while Mystique sat to his right. Former Union officers all lined up behind their former knight's back. The show of respect was ridiculously unfitting in his opinion, but spoke volumes of their loyalty.

"Only ship wreckage was recovered at the scene and we're still working on identifying the bodies. So far there were no traces of the enemy found, but for the residual radioactive signature left by portals," reported Mystique. "Hence, they are either close enough for attack or have also perfected the technology. This issue is currently under investigation. Unless proved otherwise we consider crew members and all the unidentified passengers missing."

"If I may," lady Frost waited for his nod before adding. "I suppose, this attack could not have been arranged so precisely without any support from the inside. I could help with that."

_By weeding the ranks_.

It was meant for Erik's ears alone.

"Yes," he affirmed, "do it. If there are any telepaths among your crew, I'd like you to involve them in the search."

"My lord," Mystique stated dully, "it will cause an uproar, which will surely interfere with our progress. We're already stretched thin— "

"So be it," Erik said slowly, with a smirk that was a touch too haughty. "Should I care about everyone's delicate sensibilities right now? I think not. Brace yourself, for we'll be striking back in no time. Now, we fully concentrate on tightening the borders. Can you stay?" he lowered his voice as he turned to the telepath and was patiently waiting for her nod.

"Yes," she replied.

When they were left alone in the room, silence became even heavier.

"How is he?" asked Erik; he had the urge to clear his throat all of the sudden.

"The injury is worse than initially thought. It may interfere with his ability," her gaze snapped onto him. "Scott will handle it, I'm sure."

Indeed, this woman is so certain that her lover will pull through. A pang of frustration colored in pitch black speared his chest. Erik tried to push it to the back of his mind.

"It's fine," Emma's smile was almost soft. "Do give yourself some time to mourn; otherwise it will devour you alive. I'm not actively reading you, but I can't miss getting the bits here and there, and you're driving yourself in the corner, your Brightness."

"I know."

"I knew Charles," she trailed off and the usage of past voice had nearly made Erik's fury bubble to the surface. "And I'm genuinely sorry for your… our loss. People like him are meant to build, not to destroy, and, sadly enough, in our world there is currently no place for such."

"He may be alive," voicing it didn't help as much as he hoped it would.

"If Shaw knows who he is and it seems that he does, because the convoy was specifically targeted. So, his capture might have been a primary goal," a warning tone turned into carefully neutral, for their adversary's cruelty has already become proverbial. "Don't bestow your anger upon me alone. It's been on everyone's mind. He is better off dead."

"I know."

"Looks like you do."

Erik seized her up with a cold, hard stare, but with no malice behind it. He was storing it for those who have dared come and tear his fragile sense of hope into pieces. In one go. Those men have carelessly trampled down the sprouts of something beautiful he was trying to nurture so hard and so ineptly… it appears. Damn, he was not thinking about it right now.

"I'm not up to counseling, lady Frost," Erik looked her square in the eye and said. "I want you to help me unveil my deepest memories. I need to remember how to find and activate the Demolisher."

"I thought you knew," she countered shortly and braced her elbow on the table, leaning closer.

Someone chose that moment to come in.

"Sir," stiffly said Logan, who actually had the decency to look guilty, "two patrol ships failed to report on time. I've come directly to you like we agreed."

"Okay," Erik refused to look away from Emma. "Will you do it?"

"If Charles couldn't do it for some reason, I can only promise you that I may try."

"Can you stay too?" called Erik roughly and Logan stopped, turned around.

Erik thought he heard him cursing under his breath as he came up to where the two of them were still sitting at the head of the table. With each step his face darkened as though the man was walking his last mile.

"You know about my memories," shortly explained Erik to Logan. "Lady Frost will attempt to uncover the missing pieces. And in case it goes wrong you will help her to," he paused, because the phrase _deal with the body_ was hideously fitting and yet not.

"But Charles said that time, that the danger—"

"It doesn't matter," Erik was gritting out his words at this point.

"Well, fuck you, Eisenhardt, but it does," Logan grunted sharply, tossing aside a chair. There was a bang when it toppled.

Watching him with a blank face, Erik stood up slowly, observing how Logan tensed up, apparently ready for the confrontation, which, he believed, was soon to come.

"We need you in one piece. All these people are relying on you, waiting for your orders. Are you going to toss it away? Just like that?" Logan clenched his hands into fists. Then, he barked out a short bitter laugh, "I'm sorry I was not there with him. I'm sorry I didn't protect him."

"What does he mean?" Emma chanced a look at Erik and then at Logan, and narrowed her eyes. "Impossible… You want to bargain with that?"

In the end, the situation turned out their exchange into an absolutely ridiculous joke — his plans being revealed due to stupid misunderstanding.

"It's nobody's business what I'll do with something that belongs to me."

"We will not stand a single chance if you present our enemy with means of mass destruction. Even if the stories are only partially true," Emma stared at him, pointedly, and Erik felt her power pressing onto his mental shields, silently attempting to find the confirmation.

The fact that Logan had finally shut up was a little consolation, considering.

"I am not letting Charles die. I will offer them that damn weapon in exchange for his return before it's too late. And if it is, if it's too late, I will be personally responsible for wiping out every single star system that has ever pledged allegiance to Herlir. And rest assured that by wiping out I mean exactly that."

"You can't win this war like that," pressed Emma. She was wearing the expression Erik was not able to identify, but the air vibrated with a wired sense of strain, courtesy of her telepathy.

"And who is talking of winning?"

With or without you.

He pushed his way to the doors. Erik didn't look back. Though he did want her to hear the last thought loud and clear, he couldn't help registering a tiny tendril of acrid regret escaping those steely wires of the evil, intricate design, which helped to keep his despair at bay.

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"I can see that we have a lot in common, lord Eisenhardt," a thin smile accompanying his words was obviously fake. Ex-governor Shaw will never earn his respect, but the man was tenacious and powerful, with a sadistic streak according to hushed whispers. These atrocious deeds, though never put to proper light, made him tacitly unwelcomed in the majority of higher circles. For now, he needed someone like Shaw, someone crazy enough to start the major coup.

"Of course," he had to agree, mentally scowling at the bastard. He wished overall prearrangements didn't take such toll on him, consuming most of his time.

"I admit, rattling up my former domain within the time constraints," Shaw sighed, somewhat flaunty, "is proving more difficult than expected. But I have met someone recently. She is insanely powerful— "

"I repeat that I only want a limited number of people to be involved."

Darn, was that too hard to understand? That was another thing about Shaw: despite all that pretense to profound knowledge and intelligence, the man was frequently blatantly thick.

"No problem," Shaw shrugged, dropping the whole issue with suspicious ease.

"Max, are you in here?"

Startled, he arched his neck to look back. The familiar voice came from the doors, apparently left half-open. Charles.

"Yeah, I'm a bit busy right now," he said loudly, attributing the roughness of his voice to long conversational abuse. "I will contact you soon," he said to Shaw quietly and frowned at the knowing smirk that looked infuriatingly smug for a beat.

Swiftly unplugging from the net, he jumped to his feet, the sensation of movement after the prolonged stillness briefly overwhelming him, and then he turned around.

"Please, come in."

"Are you sure that I am not interrupting anything important?"

Charles squeezed himself through the half-open door as if not daring to swing it any more. He was wearing his black professorial robe, which meant that he's just come back from the conference. And seeing as he was coated in aura of fatigue, Charles, not unsurprisingly, had been right about wanting to decline the invitation.

"I'm a terrible host," he took off the traditional tall square cap and complained, distractedly tugging at his untamed bangs. "I'm leaving you all alone only to go and earn myself a headache. It makes no sense."

By the time Charles finished speaking, he found himself staring into those bright blue eyes, feeling as his lips stretched into a crooked smile.

"How about a drink?" he offered, anticipating a calm and pleasant evening, banishing all unnecessary concerns from his mind.

"Have you noticed that we actually drink very often, not that I object to a good company or a decent drink," Charles groaned with a flourish of tired amusement, looking as though he was torn between accepting the offer and engaging in further banter. "Oh, forget it, we don't see each other that often."

"That's hardly a healthy excuse."

"You see, my friend, I'm out of all good ones for now," responded Charles with an on-coming smile, and before Erik could fully immerse himself into joy of seeing the other, the dream slipped away, leaving him in a state of alternating between being badly shocked and horribly terrified.

Erik's head snapped up immediately — he was shaken into consciousness. He tasted bitter bile in his mouth; something rotten was spreading inside him, as he attempted to hold his thundering head in his hands, counting heavy, pained breaths.

He dozed off in the armchair, after not getting a wink of real sleep for three days in a row, therefore his body was currently uncomfortably twisted to the side — neck cramps were announcing revenge right now. And he couldn't have slept more than an hour or so. He pushed himself so hard, craving that particular memory that could help him save Charles. Instead, he has just got a revelation, an outline of atrocity. He had been one of the originators: he was carefully fostering the seeds of war, trying to tank the Union by fueling separatist's groups, he was tenaciously digging under the Council's most influential members, he was the one to have established numerous secret factories to engineer new generations of battle ships.

Greatly nauseous, he let his head fall down, in between his knees. If it was possible, he was feeling guiltier, more furious than before. Right now all that rage was internalized, directed at the one person responsible, and it was Erik, Max, fucking Eisenhardt, whatever… He could have taken Charles captive himself for all that matters. Erik was the one to have killed him, or, if the assumption was true, and deep inside he was afraid that it had been, Erik was also the one responsible for Charles being tortured. Coldness settled firmly into the pit of his stomach after he sprawled in the armchair, body lax and eyes fixed at nothing in particular.

"Please, forgive me, please," there was no one in here to hear his raspy whisper. He didn't know who he was begging.

He was frozen on the spot, sitting in the armchair and wondering why the hell this frigging world has not ended yet. His lungs seemed to be made of stone, rigid and cold, and every single breath was a fight on its own. There were so many _ifs_ spinning in his angry mind. There was literally no end to them. _Charles shouldn't have come for me_ — this was undoubtedly the loudest.

Funny how it worked, because as soon as he registered that, another memory came back — he and Charles waiting for the elevator together, Charles telling him that he shouldn't be worried about the past, because Charles firmly believes that he has a great potential, and he should take into account the fact that everyone's actions are being influenced by certain circumstances, and thus adding that Erik has an amazing chance to be whoever he wants to be. Yeah, he told that, before planting a phantom, farewell kiss on Erik's forehead and leaving to make one of the most prominent discoveries of the last century. Before disappearing. How could Charles have known back then? How could he be so damnably sure?

Hybrids followed him unprompted, tall cloaked figures soundlessly creeping behind their master. They were always ready to die for an Eisenhardt, programmed to do so by the genius of forbidden arts of the past.

He will find a way to set them free decided Erik, marching to the deck with strenuous resolve and some meager scraps of decisiveness he somehow managed to procure, paying little or no attention to bows and salutes.

Mystique has been quite preoccupied.

"We have fended off the second wave of attack on Leasur successfully, my lord."

Why wasn't he woken up? Erik would have never suspected his Commander in caring of his need to sleep.

"How many?"

"We have lost ten fighters and one light cruiser. What is more important — there is a possibility to predict the exact coordinates where Herlir portals may appear," and she grinned, fierce and gleeful, eyes glinting enticingly.

"Nice job," said Erik sincerely, "but I need your help. Can you spare some time?"

"Yes, why not."

She stepped down from her station and her deputy has immediately filled in. Erik allowed her to step forward, following behind at a barely acceptable distance. Peering over her shoulder Mystique asked:

"My quarters?"

"Sure."

They have passed a familiar face on their way and Erik glanced back, to make sure that he was not seeing things. There was no doubt that doctor McCoy and that girl, Kitty Pride, were immersed in conversation with Drake, standing in the corner of the large circular intersection. Charles had mentioned that they were coming earlier, that's right. Erik hated that a mere recollection could almost throw him off kilter, guilt flaring suddenly and driving him mad. However, he deserved it, every single fraction of it and he will bear it.

In her elaborate rooms, the combination of piercing whiteness and sleek steel was still punishing his eyes.

"His body hadn't been recovered, Max."

More terrible than sadness, mirthless and infallible frost rimed his whole body: Erik let her talk about the ongoing investigation half-listening; instead, he concentrated on blocking out the noise in his ears. That was his damned fate laughing at the futility of his efforts, at his dumb hopes and uncertain, puny dreams.

So, Charles was taken, without a doubt.

"Will you help me?" Erik probed, interrupting her and earning himself a frown. His voice, what a fantastic surprise, didn't betray him.

"Can you define help, Max?" Mystique's face has frozen that instant, just reminding him of Emma Frost the very moment she realized what he wanted her to do.

"I must leave for a while and I don't want my absence to be noticed for as long as possible. Will you pretend to be me in the meantime?"

"You are —," she sucked in an angry breath, a slight expression of fear seemed to flicker in her eyes. In the end, she reiterated placidly, "Max, we're fighting every goddamn day. We're losing plenty of people every hour," Mystique met his eyes with a very deliberate accusation. "Actually, you are not the only one who has lost someone. Do you happen to understand this?"

She stopped for a moment, in order to calm down and, lord, he hadn't noticed before, but she was speaking with raw emotion, so flamed up, that he immediately summed up the signs.

"Wrong," came his retort. "I understand. I bet you think that I'm going to attempt a journey to L'har to rescue Charles. Everyone thinks that it is just basically a fancy way to commit suicide," he looked at her speculatively. "Well, you're right. Partially. I have a plan and if it works as anticipated, this atrocity will cease to be. Long time ago, I've promised you a domain of your own, then, I disappeared without a trace, but you were holding up your end just fine. What makes it so different now?"

"May eternal flame devour your soul," she steadily pronounced in the ancient dialect and Erik acknowledged a tight squeeze of his heart at the old anathema.

"I'm sure it will, quite soon," he kept his wits and tone cold. "Very well, if so, I hereby order you to assist me, by right of subordination. And we're keeping it private, shall we?"

Mystique recoiled. The silence was unbroken save for the gentle hum of working cleaning droid in the background.

"Yes," she finally bowed and those blue scales rippled, revealing his stern-looking face and he heard his own gruff voice saying, "my lord."

At the conclusion of such conversation, he halted as he felt the need to shed some light at his retreat, and Erik turned to say to his own face, pinched with disdain:

"This war is mine, I wish you could understand."

Once he left, he borrowed one of the large cloaks his hybrids were usually wearing. After he pulled it on, he ordered two of his servants to follow him; the rest had to stay onboard and go on as though nothing had happened. For several minutes he lingered in the corridor, next to the large side-viewing window. Valkar fleet was regrouping after the battle, massive hulks of ships moving deceptively languidly, ready to chance upon the enemy any time. Grey in the midst of the back. Numerous smaller shapes were rushing about, too fast to the eye of the astonished observer. He was suddenly overcome with realization, utterly logical, that he will not escape being punished in any case. A certain measure of philosophically hued calm descended on him, prompting a yet nameless shift in the fiber of his being. Dazed and not just a bit soul-sick from the entire journey, Erik was beyond himself. Ever since Charles came and snatched him away from that grey and bare world, everything he knew was being questioned over and over, and again and again he has been blunted by the injustice of his life. After all, he was just a man who has lost his memories and gained them back, only to lose his best friend and soul mate en route.

"Master? Are you all right?"

"No," Erik deadpanned, pulled the hood lower; he figured that if he was making even hybrids unsettled, he must get away quickly, in order not to attract any attention.

Several minutes later he was on the lower deck. His heart missed a beat when he caught a sight of a black, remarkably elegant ship. Well, it was most likely brought here by McCoy, he mused. Hardly fair — here was Charles' vessel, so helplessly chained to the hangar by the absence of its pilot. The ship's presence seemed to kick him back on track: Erik turned abruptly and approached the same ship he used for a little trip outside Valkar system, now equipped with additional firepower and D-drive per his request.

When he was inside, rapidly checking all ship systems one last time, it struck him that he had already done it once. During those early days on Valkar he sneaked away and met Charles in the Forbidden Dale. His mind jumped at opportunity to wander among his recollections of the time.

"Are you going to leave right now?" one of the hybrids required in a tone of great respect.

Erik rested his hand on the control panel.

After a moment he said:

"I must. Yes."

"Where to?"

Erik imagined for a moment that the question has been asked by a child, hanging on every word with avid interest. Therefore, he smiled despite himself.

"L'har," he announced succinctly and warned. "This's not going to be a pretty excursion."

"Then, you'll need us more so."

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Ship went down in violent flames, sequence of rapid blasts tearing the hulk apart — it was visible like a stain now black, still flaming, in the midst of the green valley. From his vantage point Erik has seen the armed jets arriving immediately and hovering over the crush sight.

Deaf to the noises around him, he mentally thanked air force control for their impeccable timing. He programmed the ship to appear right in L'har's stratosphere, and, using D-drive for the first time, he was reasonably worried whether he'll manage to jump that far.

The period of time he spent within _untime, _now that was the name Charles came up with, was so bizarre that no amount of reading reports and listening to pilots retelling their experience could have prepared Erik for that. When they dove into the portal for the first time, by accident, Erik has seen none of that. There was only a flash of black, deep and threatening, but still, it was just a flash. And this prolonged journey was totally stupefying — for him it felt like crossing a bridge between worlds, provided that you could remember that there were such entities like worlds at all. _Untime_ was screwing up with your mind, compelling you to lose yourself in the endless stretch of time and space, to become the one with the void. Hybrids were awfully terrified of the short passage; primal fear laid real hold of them. It appeared, they grew calmer now — Erik darted a quick look back: these poor wretches were not eager to relive the experience and were glad that the ship was destroyed.

From the start, he entertained the stupidly bold idea of giving himself in and thus getting into the orbital station, where the commanding center and labs, and prison for the most wanted were, according to reports. The plan was dismissed as being faulty, for it required Erik to give up his mobility potential. Presently, he was on L'har, currently undetected, wearing an anti-psionic band and full body gear, to which he owed his preservation and undetectability. And two disturbingly loyal servants. What an army they made, he thought sarcastically.

Erik glanced at the enflamed shipwreck one last time, the slight remorse he felt at the sight has been forced out by strong relief that their secret technology was destroyed, drive blown to pieces as he jumped out. He looked about him to see if there were any traces of his landing left and found none.

Two of the scanning droids were flying in his direction, but he gently urged them to change the course.

That done, Erik jumped down from the tall tree he was previously using for cover and faced the setting sun. There was a city, if maps were not lying, just at the edge of the forest.

While Erik did his best to slide through the jungles, carefully and noiselessly, what he could see by the light of the dying star was breathtaking. Woods were breathing with life and myriads of tiny noises could be heard emitted by wildlife in the mass of trees and bushes, as insects and small animals grew distinctly alert because of his presence.

The sense of his duty and the terrible peril of his friend prevailed though, leaving absolutely no time for anything else.

From his viewpoint, city was less dangerous for him. His ability alone made navigating busy streets and passing through checkpoints easy like hell. So easy, in fact, that he soon started wondering whether he was just being led on by someone's deliberate will. His next step would be getting on the transport to the orbit and he planned to do it by means of creating distraction.

"If you get detected before entering the hangar, try to hide somewhere and wait," he was instructing hybrids in brief, hoping that they understood the basics themselves. "As soon as you damage the reactor you'll have from three to five minutes to get out," they were listening to him and turning their heads with little black dot-eyes alternatively, reminding him one more time of species they were interbred with.

"All clear, Master."

"And take care. Get out of there as quickly as possible when you're finished."

He made them wear mini tracking devices. However, the thought that he would see them again hardly deluded Erik.

His luck has not yet abandoned him when he got to the launching point at spaceport. Like any big spaceport this was also bustling and crowded, albeit with military in red. Ever since he landed on L'har red was everywhere he went. Erik shuddered inside when he realized how much Herlir uniforms resembled those of Valkar troops from their victory days. Especially, the upper ranks. Darn, it should have tickled his curiosity ages ago.

Stepping inside the space elevator, just in time with the explosion, Erik discreetly smirked in satisfaction, when the officer, who was checking identifications, took his eyes off the scanner for a split second. It was enough to allow Erik to fiddle with the settings. The problem with all these checkpoints was disguising his features and nanomachines, Summer's gift, were aiding him in that, covering his face with the thinnest of layers and transforming him into a wrinkled, red-faced man, twice his age, with a large meaty nose and heavy-lidded, dull eyes, lending Erik a permanently bored look.

Unfortunately, his disguise was short-lived as he soon felt the tell-tale tickling on his face, and it dawned on Erik that his time was up.

Not that he wasn't ready to take on an army. It was fighting for the sake of someone else, not for himself, which filled him with incredible fortitude. And, frankly, it was the metal band around his head he was worried about the most, as he followed the large group of troopers and slid into the passage on his left. Wary of droids following him, he had to pretend that he was having a conversation via his headpiece. When it didn't help, Erik muttered a curse under his breath and noticed some woman, very conveniently glued to her touchpad, leaving a room. He hurried up and before the doors slid shut, he was in.

It was an empty room, save for a dozen flight simulators.

Erik ran his hand down his face, feeling that that particular tickling sensation has migrated to his palm. He squeezed it tight, deliberating his next move.

Then, the doors slid open, and Erik, standing with his back to the doors, stiffened up.

"I have recognized you immediately. Even in that foolish mask."

Doors slid shut again and in silence that followed Erik turned around, painstakingly slowly. He drove down his emotions, especially his surprise, and quickly examined a man standing in front of him, hoping to discover weak points in his stance. Although, when Erik fully took him in, he was struck speechless.

His doppelganger has changed so much since the last time Erik has seen him in his dumb helmet. He was still wearing it, by the way, but a few spare locks of hair breaking lose from the metal confines were already grey. Deep wrinkles adorned his parched up face and grey eyes watching Erik seemed paler than his own and showed a frightful amount of exinanition and anger. He was also stooping his shoulders, as if some invisible weight was pressing down on him. This was, Erik reckoned, a faded shadow of the man he's seen before.

"Are you done staring?" the doppelganger raised an eyebrow on him.

Feeling for metal surrounding them, Erik scoffed:

"Union cautions against cloning for a very good reason, I see."

"Shut it, brat," his doppelganger's glance contained a death warning. "I came to see you first before revealing your presence, so be grateful."

Erik found it disturbingly easy to hate himself.

"You don't have a choice, so stay put and listen to me. No use coming at me with your powers. Besides, I would have been done with you that time, if not for the telepath," he looked at Erik fixedly, tapping at his temple to make the point.

"I'll do whatever you want, if you take me to him," words were out before Erik could hold his tongue. He added, in more reserved state of mind, "Within reasonable limits, of course."

"You're at least two days late," said the other aloofly, "Essex was so eager to get his claws on the secret tech, that he had overdone it with the telepath. Shaw was beyond himself with fury when he found out. It appears, he had the plans," he scowled, his last word coming out meaningfully grave.

"Are you telling the truth?" inquired Erik, trying to recover his senses, while he stood completely motionless, only his lips were barely moving. Hope, however miniscule, was still there until now. Immediately, his head started throbbing and there was a beast inside, clawing at his chest and his gut, tearing out pieces of bloody flesh and munching it.

"The truth?" the reply was merciless. "Of course. I wouldn't lie to my progenitor."

Nothing could have prepared Erik for the ugly reality.

"Lord," he faltered, unsure what to say — that he will kill them all, that he will torture and then kill them all, that he will dedicate his life to making them suffer nonstop.

The gravity of his crisis was not being appreciated for long.

"Don't you dare lose it now," sternly said his clone, as all the metal in the vicinity started melting into puddles, even walls began to leak.

"It is just… tell me where I can find Essex and Shaw."

"Not so fast, there's someone who wants to meet you first. Let's go," he said with urgency, "and put your mask back on."

Silence, like darkness incarnate, so complete that it almost seemed a sentient being, firmly settled inside. So, much to his doppelganger's surprise Erik didn't argue. On the contrary, when they were walking together, to destination unknown, Erik prodded:

"What is happening to you?"

"I'm aging extremely fast."

Erik's question has earned him a dubious, empty look and a smirk.

"Why have they done this? Why create a clone, who will not live for a sufficient amount of time?"

"Hm, I used to ask myself the same questions. It had been Shaw's idea, a very foolish way to obtain a pet metallokinetic. The coward is afraid of the Empress, he probably sleeps in the helmet, and that's obvious that Shaw is desperate to recruit as many powerful men as possible," he went silent when they passed the officer in red, with white stripes of colonel's rank, and exchanged salutes. "There were a lot of us. Several lines… and all faulty to different degrees. I'm the last one sane left and I begin to think that the real goal was not just physically recreating Valkar descendant. Shaw was building the tabernacle — a vessel for mind and memories."

"Why is everyone so intent on getting into my head?"

"Because you're keeping valuable secrets even Her Highness was unable to drag out, so I've heard."

Erik stopped, suddenly rooted to the spot as though his legs were not obeying him anymore. He was deliberately not thinking about that before.

"She did it to me… The Empress," he rasped quietly.

Having stopped as well, his companion glared at him:

"What do you think you are doing?"

Under the pressure of the other's wry gaze, Erik had no choice but to continue walking. As matters stood, the puzzle pieces he struggled to connect, were finally fully interlocking with startling rapidity. I'd rather die nameless, I'd better stay forgotten — such thoughts were pulsing persistently in his head, but there was no known way to alter what has already been done.

They have passed through doors with a red restriction sign on them, and then through another and one more. There were no spheres in here: only little orange bulbs were pulsing above, giving just enough light to prevent from stumbling over sleek cables, messily intertwined on the ground. At his clone's request Erik has temporarily disabled security cameras, meanwhile the older version of him was busy with the scanners. When they approached the door in the corner, the other hesitated, before turning to Erik. His pale lifeless eyes bore into Erik's.

"I hope you are not going to have a sudden meltdown," he said with solemnity.

With this he pushed at the door with his powers and it opened inside. A strange, almost elemental change in the atmosphere had elapsed as he saw the apparition, sitting cross-legged on the low table in the middle of the chamber. A strain of plaintive desire played on the strings of his soul, recalled Erik's attention to the ache in his heart.

"You are not him," he managed weakly, unsure in the beginning, but acquiring more confidence as seconds ticked away.

That something, wearing Charles' body, was watching him emotionlessly. Erik would recognize that face anywhere, but, it was so foreign — all achingly familiar lines, he learned and relearned so many times seemed blurred, as if bones have shifted slightly underneath skin and muscles were outlined differently. Somehow, Erik knew, that instant, that there was no trace of Charles left.

"I told you, didn't I?" Max, Erik decided to call him that, propped himself against the wall. "Yesterday, I took the helmet off, for a minute or so, when a voice came. He told me that he'd give me what I want."

"Do you trust it?"

"I am on the brink of death anyway," he grumbled tiredly, "what do I have to lose, except a week or two? As near as I can guess, this entity is like a secondary parasite, feeding on psychic energy, but, he explained, that they never take over a body, as a rule."

"They?"

"There is some gallimaufry with pronouns: they are the one, and yet they are parted. In other words, don't even ask."

Erik tried to digest it, he honestly did.

"I hid him here, and he told me that you were coming. It nearly spelled death for me. But, damn," Max continued talking until his body was rattled by a violent cough. To Erik's ear it sounded very bad: he thought he registered a scarcely bright spark of guilty compassion, which was something new among the myriads moods of pain and sorrow he lived throughout these past several days.

Now, everything about Charles' recent blackout, some strange presence he unwillingly told Erik about and persistent headaches came rushing back like an avalanche. Some minutes afterwards he discovered that he was lying on the ground, restrained by metal fashioned from the floor itself. The face of his clone was covered in the shadows, but the voice was disapproving:

"Calm down, Eisenhardt! Damn you. Why do you have to be so difficult?"

So focused on the old man he was that he had missed someone kneeling at his side. With sinking heart he realized that he was not wearing his headband anymore and his body was not simply frozen out of fear. In fact, he could not move a muscle because a certain telepathic creature didn't allow him.

_Interesting. Quite. I can't give you what you want. But I know who will. _

The press of cold fingers on his temples was light. Erik found that knowledge was being forcibly poured into his head. And he was simultaneously deaf and blind, as a new plane unfolded in front of him, relaying his mindscape with multiplied power. Confining himself mentally hadn't worked, he couldn't get away physically, so he had to endure. In vain he tried to shut the doors to the deepest corners of his consciousness. Well aware within his disintegrating mind he saw the world unlike his — the realm of primal chaos, where thoughts were taking forms, shifting every instant and the matter was rippling and fluttering, just like Mystique's skin. There was no dying since nothing was born. And then there came a split. Something torn lose, wild and desperate to return, but finding no way back. Erik saw the image of the Empress immersed in fire and it clicked.

"Enough… I can't…" he uttered coarsely and everything stopped at once. "I know what you want," thankfully, his words were coming out gradually firmer, as the understanding grew. "You want to go back home, but you're lost, alone. The ship," his body sagged, "you have been with the ship all this time. And Charles took you in, unintentionally."

Blinking through black spots, Erik stared at the ceiling, feeling that his body was under his control again. The ceiling and walls were solid tamis, he could sense it, and he needed to confirm it's tangibility, something other than these unthinkable and incalculable congeries.

"Her power exceeds all human limits, because one of theirs has broken the rules and took over a host," Max let his bindings dissolve. "I can only venture a guess that she hadn't always been like that. Still, she is exceptional. No other mutant would have survived for so long."

Erik took not-Charles' cold hand, without looking it full in the face, and stood up. Having glanced at the offered world of pure energy, he distinctly perceived the inferiority of human race comparing to those creatures, so complex in their simplicity. However, once this thought crossed his mind, he registered a tendril of negation coming from outsider. With amazing speed, he snatched his hand back.

"Leaving all that you've told me aside," Erik was almost set that the old bastard was playing his own game, because that's what he would have done. "We help to drive out the rebellious spirit from the most powerful mutant known, who is also the proclaimed leader of the militarized state, and?..."

"Didn't he promise you to fulfill your strongest desire?"

"Not quite," deadpanned Erik.

All he previously asked of living, whether material or immaterial, made no sense now. After all, Charles was gone and he left his people. Alone, again. Then, he squinted at Max with suspicion:

"I wager you are not going to say no to a new, healthy body."

"Relax," the other huffed patronizingly, "I don't want yours. Being you is troublesome."

"Well, then I can't care less."

Erik could see for himself how hopeless their endeavor seemed. Not knowing the extent of his new ally's powers he didn't have the confidence. Large, patient eyes of a silent creature appeared to understand much and classify him, as perfectly expressionless face was turned in his direction. The effect of that leisurely dark gaze at him was greater than he might have expected.

Max looked at his wristband and threw in a remark, reserved:

"The Empress and her escort have just arrived. Now, we have all of them exactly where we want: in the huge metal structure, at our mercy."

He took off his helmet with a dramatic sigh, chiefly looking like he was participating in the seedy spectacle. Had Erik not recognized some of the gestures as his own, he would have grimaced at old performer's quirks. Erik picked up and then hid his headband, shrinking it so that it would fit in the inner pocket; such was the mutual agreement that their minds had to be unguarded. How else were they going to get a power boost? They left the dingy chamber together and as they moved through the core of the station Erik found himself as deeply attuned to metal around him as he has never been. Where atoms combined together chemically according to their affinities he saw the beautiful, exquisite pattern, and he also saw the indefinite number of molecules, revolving around their axis, and, Erik thought with pride, he was the one able to accelerate or slow down their motion with so much as a finger snap.

Tired of their slow progress, Erik extended his hand and made a wide round passage in the wall, parting metal before him. Thus, then, advancing quickly through the tear they found themselves in the tall room with parallel glass sections, bathed in intensive light. All personnel were frozen on the spot. Although, one man was moving and when Erik saw that hateful pale face, he smiled, no time for prudence, and struck, fast and precise, right through the chest. Essex dropped to the floor in a heap and Erik propelled himself into motion. He undertook to perfect and prolong this moment as much as he could without sabotaging everything.

Unable to move due to metal spikes slowly piercing his flesh, Essex, though, looked up at approaching trio with infuriating contempt. Blood was practically everywhere, soaking into his clothes and forming a growing puddle on the floor. His black eyes darted to not-Charles in the center and, on account of grimace twisting his features, Erik could not be sure whether it was fear, not something else, flickering across his face. When Erik took two more steps closer, planting his feet in a bloody puddle with a squelch, Essex croaked, almost subaudibly:

"Remember what I told you, Eisenhardt," he sneered, teeth stained red, "that you would kill him —,"

Erik took his sweet time severing the tongue.

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	10. The Breakoff

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Just as Erik was composing himself, Max had to spoil the moment by dragging:

"You'd have made a fine butcher, Eisenahrdt."

Erik just pulled up his collar and then gave his sleeves a final cleansing rub against each other. Carefully, he stepped around the dismembered corpse. He sought, although in vain, any of the curt responses he always used to have. The copious amount of blood tugged at his extended senses and Erik, dully noting that he could never feel it before, decided to distill that bit about his powers later.

"Let's go," he threw with the air of finality and stepped forward.

Suddenly, a red face appeared in front of him from the cloud of smelly smoke and Erik barely dodged a grabbing hand. The teleporter, who wanted to seize him a second ago, froze, caught by the telepathic command, and then crumbled.

"Excellent," Max snarled to not-Charles, "now we have such a convenient transport at our disposal. What?" he inquired, perplexed.

The effect of something his clone has overheard on his countenance convinced Erik that this was something very important.

"Valkar Armada is here, attacking the planet, and battle fortresses of the Union are coming," Max said quickly.

"I have nothing to do with it. We're not ready yet," groaned Erik, his mind frantically swinging between different kinds of dread. Eager to end this, he blew the doors through, brutally hard, and broke into a run. Their time limit grew even tighter than it was possible.

In the long corridor leading to the commanding block, troopers in anti-psionic helmets were already waiting for them to emerge, aiming guns made of some shit he couldn't sense in their direction. How predictable, thought Erik, not even slowing down, and left every and each of them fused grotesquely to the ground, buried deep in metal confines, but alive. Because, during that little time he had, Erik's consciousness acknowledged frank and undisguised incomprehension in the eyes, so like Charles'.

About half-way down the corridor, Erik was enveloped in blinding, white light. Instinctively, he reached out with his powers, but nothing happened. The floor under his feet has disappeared too.

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This time he realized that he was in the memory, which was, for some reason, akin to projection, so Erik was able to wander around and about. He did exactly that, coming up to Charles, as soon as he saw him. Charles' eyes were firmly focused on his counterpart's face though and his forehead was contracted in a deep frown.

"I don't understand," Charles was saying quietly, and Erik immediately recognized that tone, just teetering on the edge of pleading.

"If you hadn't stalled me then, my mother might have been alive. What is there to misunderstand?"

Always on the blaming quest, darn it. Infuriated with himself, Erik silently begged Charles not to dwell on that remark very much. It was undeniably harsh, but it was meant for the entire world, not for Charles alone.

Apparently, Charles also agreed to his unvoiced suggestion. He took a pause, wisely putting a lid on his hurt.

"You think, it wasn't an accident," confirmed Charles shakily and ventured a step closer, "and I know how you feel. Oh, Max, I'd have shared your pain if only you'd let me in."

"There are no such things like accidents in my family. Now, be so kind and leave me alone."

Eisenhardt was standing by the open window like a statue carved in rock. Dark folds of his ceremonial cloak seemed inflexible, as if everything about him lost any kind of animation. His eyes, though very laconic in his expression of anger, were hard enough to make any eye-contact uncomfortable.

Having heard his demand, Charles obediently backed away, swallowing down a dismissal with a brief nod. Erik hasn't been in the memory for a couple of minutes and it was already driving him insane. Now, after Charles left and everything stopped being exciting, Erik looked around properly for the first time: it was the Great Waiting Hall, rich mosaic inlay on the floor consisted of intricate symbolic art, and, high above, the dome was turned into a starry sky with Union crest, eight pointed star, in the center.

The almost silent memory was not coming to an end and Erik felt agitation creeping down his spine. For he already recalled, quite well, that his past self was waiting for the Council to vote and declare him the next lord-governor of Valkar after his mother's death. Erik could almost picture all grim thoughts rushing through Eisenhardt's mind as he was painstakingly cataloguing suspicions, his need for revenge taking deep roots in his heart.

It was some intensely surreal experience when Erik came face to face with himself.

"You're so good at getting rid of all decent things in your life. You're a sad spectacle of the man."

First time since he realized that his mind was housing two personalities, Erik's anger gave place to genuine pity. However, he was strangely not ashamed of feeling it anymore, as it slowly spread through his chest, loosening tight wires, that kept unwelcomed feeling subdued.

Erik wanted to amuse himself by squeezing the other's shoulder, a small gesture of support, but his phantom hand went through and he was falling into whiteness again.

…If Charles hadn't pulled that stupid stunt back on the ship, he wouldn't be there, wasting his precious time and waiting for Mystique. Hardly content to wait any longer, he gazed back at the ship wreckage and had the dubious pleasure of witnessing Charles waking up. Lord, came a wry thought, he wished Charles stayed unconscious until his convoy arrived.

The desert they crashed onto was secluded — that was good, but the heat was frigging scorching — and that was downright terrible. Helmet was broken and he had to take it off and throw away, no use looking for the substitute in the ship wreckage, he assumed. Well, his people were almost due to arrive.

"If I were you, I wouldn't move," he generously offered, though not in time to prevent an attempt, which resulted in a pained yelp.

With thinly veiled irritation, he crouched next to Charles then, on the sand, and moved closer to help, but Charles must have misinterpreted his intentions, for he blanched, trembled all over, and tried to shuffle back and to the left, almost sobbing from pain, as he propped himself on both hands, more mindful of his broken leg this time. Unlike Erik, he didn't have his spacesuit on during the crash, thus his face was a mess of scratches and red spots of burns, and the cut on his cheekbone, recently irritated, started bleeding again. That's where I hit him — he recalled with cold detachment. You wouldn't imagine how stubborn and unreasonable Charles could be until you witness it at close hand. He didn't know how it was that he came out of his ways of life just to be stood down like that.

"And what were you trying to achieve?" he put in, with a trace of anger. "Behold, then," he rose up, and gestured sarcastically at the wreckage, at the flat, empty line of horizon, red sand and pale, almost yellow sky.

"Oh my, Max, I… I was trying to save those people," Charles seethed harshly, then hugged his midsection and doubled over. Still, he managed a weak, "I tried to save you!"

"Then, you're obviously delusional," he squinted at the sun, marveling what has taken Mystique so long. To be frank, he had no heart to argue with Charles as it was pointless, but, at the same time, he scrutinized the other attentively — he certainly didn't want to lose a potentially valuable asset for his soon to be put into action cause. And Charles, conclusively, had a lot of potential: as a scientist, as a strategist, and as a powerful telepath. The last but not the least — Charles, despite all his regrettable lack of compromising skills, was trustworthy.

"If you are so sure that they were responsible for your mother's death, why not let Union patrol do their job," Charles kept ranting in the background, a firm believer in let's-talk-about-it approach. "There's always someone else to blame, right, Max? Learn to deal with it already and do everybody a favor."

Charles sounded too good for someone injured, and, wait a minute, has he just stood up?

The man was absolutely mad, indeed, he decided, using his powers to lockdown receptors; it will cause a lot of harm to visceral system. Recovering from that will be next to living through hell.

"Charles, lie down this instant," he began.

"You're not listening to me! At all!" Charles returned vehemently, heedless of his words. "You know that I'll never betray your trust and yet you insist on wearing that," his pointed to his forehead accusingly and in doing so wobbled dangerously. "You're the closest to my heart," some mysterious hope brightened up his eyes and slid over his ragged features like warm flame. He took a step forward, and then one more. "Take it off, please. Please, Max, my friend. Just let me help you, for goodness' sake. Let me show you —"

"Your help involves pushing for the decision that you deem appropriate," he uttered before he found it difficult to ignore all that emotion and sentiment, touched by Charles' sincerity, which he perceived even without the other's telepathy. That's why he added, "Come with me, I mean it. In time you'll see why keeping my thoughts private is so essential at the moment."

It was very difficult to speak through the roar the landing cruiser was making right behind Charles' back.

Charles quivered, turned his head to glance back.

"I didn't, I don't hear anyone…"

Erik scarcely discerned his words; it was true that from there he stood Charles has seemed somewhat panicked, all of the sudden, shooting Erik a nervous, nonplussed look, in furtive manner, that under the circumstances was very odd.

"They came for me," he cried, over the noise. If his eyes were not betraying him, an open flyer was quickly approaching them.

That was completely and utterly his fault that he let his guard down for a beat, just enough for Charles to notice the perfect opportunity and try to tackle him. We've been there before, he idly mused, as he and Charles toppled down and he used the momentum to flip them over, so that Charles was the one lying on his back on the sandy ground, desperately trying to twist out of his grip; thrashing around like his life depended on it. Lord, but he was really sick and tired of it. He immediately pinned Charles' captured wrists above his head, expertly tightening his hold to ensure than any movement would cause serious pain.

"Stay put," he growled lowly, incredibly furious that this fucking mockery of a scuffle happened at all. "Or I swear, Charles, one more of your stupid feats and I'll lose my temper."

Charles' eyes were blown wide, filling with tears, — he couldn't have possibly expected to get an upper hand while fighting him hands on. Ridiculous.

"Max!" Mystique jumped from the hovering flyer and took off to him. Once she stopped next to them, she pulled out a phazer, aiming at Charles' head.

"That's right. Maybe, this will make you obey," he pushed himself up, noting that slight tremors started running through Charles' body. He pretended not to see Charles' tear-streaked face, casting his eyes to Mystique and with a tiny jerk of his head signaling her that there was not going to be any shooting today.

"You need to hurry up, we have Union fighters at tail," she informed gravely.

On hearing this, he didn't hesitate, aware of the way his untimely exposure would endanger the whole undercover mission. A brief moment followed, during which he stared at Charles intently, however, the other was apparently in too much pain to comprehend this fact, panting and whimpering from the backlash. Lord, and he did warn him.

In the end he said:

"Charles, Union guards will be here any moment now. I must leave."

Afterwards, lured into a trap by Shaw he would absently mull over that situation to pass time while imprisoned. He would be thinking that he probably got ahead of himself when he declared Charles his enemy in front of Mystique. Fury and the feeling of ultimate betrayal caught up with him later, and she was always there, always ready to listen, to share his anger. It was to both their interests.

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_Wake up_.

Erik heard deep in his vision mind.

_You are entrapped on mental plane. _

He sought the direction voice was coming from, and discovered that there was none.

_Build the road as you walk it. Hurry. _

Erik envisioned the thin line of the bridge, made of square metal plates and quickly sprinted ahead. The scarlet and black stormy sky was underneath his feet, it was enflamed with raging explosions, and it was falling, ghostly cries ringing in his ears.

When, finally, his bridge ended and he was yanked up, away from the spinning shadow below.

"Here he is," grumbled Max, much like a sulking old man, somewhere from above.

Not-Charles was gently clasping his head in his cold hands, as his face was looming a touch too close for comfort just above Erik's, their foreheads almost bumping together. Erik discovered that his eyes felt hot and stinging, wet, — no wonder that he was crying, he guessed that was the least he could do to mourn his lost friend, his passed up chance to do everything right. The maniacal need to ignore it, temper it, withhold from displaying how deeply he was hurting was, indeed, nothing but a burden, too heavy and too wicked.

From not-Charles he received a set of images, meanwhile: himself and his clone falling down under the sudden press of the Empress' attack, Max was jerked back then from sinking into the abyss, but Erik's return took more time. What Erik had estimated to have been dragged for hours, took mere two minutes at best.

Before he rushed ahead, startled into motion, again, not-Charles spoke to Erik.

_A woman wants to contact you._

Erik was prone to perceive that as a simple notification, but soon understood that this creature was probably struggling with proper phrasing. Was that supposed to be a question? Not able to decide whether he cared to hear or not, he solemnly asked who and then he received the impression, which was so obviously Emma Frost, he nearly groaned — the conversation was going to be charming, if he had patience to hear her out. But what else did he expect?

"Let her through," Erik muttered, slightly resigned.

Dealing with troopers, standing on their way, was hardly complicated and, he resumed, he could spare half of his attention elsewhere.

_Eisehhardt, who has just been blocking me? _

Prone to revenge himself on the contrarious telepath, he pushed forth a glimpse of the other's realm, as overwhelming and startling as it was for him, acutely conscious of its' impact.

_So, you've run off to discover a new life form?_

From the manner she spoke he readily discerned the echo of inevitable profound impression, not concealed. He was not led astray by the cold undertone, and she might have had a right to refer to him like that, but Erik, after all metaphorical slaps he has recently taken, strongly resorted to staying unperturbed.

This new life form is helping us to take down the Empress and her inner circle, be grateful — he shot back and dodged a phazer shot from the soldier, who pretended to be unconscious before. The man was certainly smarter than his fellow comrades, pondered Erik, shoving him into the wall by metal in his gear, and then into the ceiling for good measure.

_Scott believed that you were still alive and you might need help. His definition of honour is not something I understand, but I respect it nonetheless. Therefore, we have come to the mutual decision to hurl our joined fleets into action._

This odd reasoning was something unexpected, morally righteous, damn the knight and his old-school logic, also it was final… Of course, Emma has showed him pictures, down to the smallest, most ignominious details, adding more and more: Erik had recalled the urgent meeting that was held by Mystique after his departure, doubtful about the success of his revenge, very limited time his generals had to plan the attack, knowing that all the efforts could very well be their last, he acutely recognized angry Logan in the memory, Alex, putting on a helmet, Munoz and Munroe talking, got the flash of Kitty Pride and Drake jumping into cockpit of the new fighter jet, McCoy in the hangar, Summers, wearing bizarre dark eyepiece, that covered his eyes completely, was shouting orders. They were all together here, their virtues and duties united, and Erik landed himself right in the middle of it. And it wasn't as though he was in need of more motivation.

The wide expanse of space battle that Emma then opened before his eyes was far away from anything Erik could previously imagine. Ships, cruisers, smaller jets, shipwreck, bright blasts and flashes were practically everywhere.

Body coiled and ready for attack, Erik briskly jumped aside, when energy blast swooshed past his shoulder, and a deafening metallic roar could be heard from the corner where his doppelganger was busy with tearing apart robots, that had attacked Erik and his team not a while ago. A little smoke was showing the place where the metal giant burst into pieces.

_Your commander has found us a teleporter. We can assist you if your telepath leaves a link open, but later…_

Now then, let's see how far we can go on both fronts.

With that, her presence vanished completely from Erik's head.

Something big was waiting ahead.

Not being able to take any more liberties with his advance, Erik braced himself upon entering the grand hall. A neat row of robots was blocking his way, crowded shoulder to shoulder, waves and waves of them, their burning eyeholes trained on Erik and not-Charles, prudently standing behind him. And Erik was already exhausted, his unexpected memory trip drained him mentally and constant fighting drained him physically. He smirked to himself when he realized that he was thinking like an old man. And the said old man, however badly beaten he was, refused to go down.

"As if the dam had burst," Erik muttered, hardly refraining from cursing.

Again, he became too mindful of not-Charles, whose face was still bearing the same absence of expression, if not for his darkening eyes. Like two pools of living, vibrant darkness, where the blue used to be.

When Erik has raised his hands to stall and then squeeze and tear down metal army, not-Charles put a hand on his shoulder, pressed down lightly, and for a moment Erik's world turned impossibly blue. Released energy dilated in pulses, protecting him from lasers and blasts, wiping out every trace of tiredness in his mind and in his body. Elation, power and pride filled every corner of his soul. Had he a sword, he would have flourished it for everyone to beware.

Darn, he suddenly recalled, it was not going to last indefinitely.

"How far is she?" Max inquired, exchanging wary looks with Erik.

With a dull thump, he blocked the doors they have just passed with a huge lump of metal.

_Close._

They were in the central sector of the base, and the commanding center was separated from the rest of the station by buzzing gravity bridges, thrown across empty space like spider web threads, thus a sphere in the center resembled a cocoon. Stepping forward, Erik felt for magnetic pulse and shuddered with unexpected sensation so strong it was here.

His heart pounding, he clasped not-Charles' hand carefully, after a bit of hesitation, and the floor on which they were standing previously transformed itself into metal disc under his will. With eyes fixed on the sphere Erik made their flight short and darting, and he cut the nearest wall in two, tearing it as he would a ripe fruit. They hovered only for a second, before Erik rapidly dove in, glad that their shield was still holding. Because he was met with a wave of fire so huge, that he couldn't see anything at all. Heat was everywhere: his eyes were watering from onslaught and when he mentally readied himself, thinking that this was the exact time he was destined to die, everything shifted. Not-Charles did something to him, namely brushed of his trepidation. He didn't let go of Erik's hand, though, and joined in such fashion they remained, when heatwave subsided and enemies came into view. Tall woman with hair the most vibrant shade of red was standing just in the center, next to the scorched and still smoking gigantic control panel. Shaw, who hadn't aged a day, since their first meeting, was just lowering his hand. So, he was the one responsible for the attack.

Air smelled like death: burned flesh and plastic and overheated metal combined. There were bodies, and half-burnt grotesque remnants all around working stations, and the only people remained standing were Shaw, a few people of his, all wearing helmets, and the Empress.

"What is it, Shaw?" snarled Erik, despite a warning flashing in his mind. "Killing off your own cronies?"

Max, lacking proper timing, snapped, tone dry, from behind his back:

"Open your eyes, Eisenhardt. Isn't it obvious?"

The Empress slowly, so frigging slowly turned in his direction, and Erik felt as hairs on the back of his neck, just above his jacket's stiff collar, have bristled. Like not-Charles', her eyes were completely black, but quite a different kind of black, for there was no ancient wisdom or sanity in them, simply chaos and total madness. Only now, Erik realized that here they were in the middle of the final stand between Shaw and the Empress and, fortunately or not, the three of them were a tad too close to the woman with flaming aura. Shaw was saying something to him, but Erik's mind was too preoccupied with more essential matters. Until not-Charles tugged at his hand.

_They wanted to be attacked. We are just fulfilling your deepest desires. Many of you are willing to die, to suffer. Deep. Very deep inside._

Immediately, Erik went rigid.

Damn, that was very bad.

Shaw's order has drowned in great growing rumbling as the ground split and a wave of raw power hit him, took hold of him and threw him right into the column. Erik didn't even have time to register it before pain flared up, lungs turned to fire.

_Stand up._

For the first time, Erik wanted to tell their telepathic ally off, impolitely.

However, he struggled to push himself up on his elbows, simultaneously wiping the blood from dripping into his left eye, and stared.

The entire complex was no more. Pieces of construction were floating in the air, rods and torn panels, twisted and charred; a hideously blackened corpse was drifting right past Erik — he could see its' yellowish teeth bared and he could smell… Metal obeyed him when he ordered it up and he soared, still half-crouching on his piece of the floor he must have glued himself to instinctively.

And she was here — in the center of the havoc she created singlehandedly, by a telekinetic wave, with blinding halo around her figure, her head turned to the side and downwards and, oh, she was looking right at not-Charles. If the last defense of their minds was to go down right now, they would be certainly dead in an instant. No headband will protect from this.

And then, just after he stood up, in a flash, his little metal island got overcrowded.

"Your Brightness, it's cramped here," Logan brusquely pushed him to the side. "We can't all fly."

Erik, mute with surprise, stepped on the air, as his powers helped him to levitate next to the platform. There was Emma Frost, who looked like her body was made of some sparkling diamond, Logan, Munroe, Drake and a blue-skinned teleporter, all wearing familiar headbands, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"Good. Distract her for as long as possible," threw Erik and took off, simply letting his body fall, intending to reach not-Charles before it was too late. He hoped Emma had explained everything to the team. One look at the Empress and he altered his flight, instead, used his powers to pull not-Charles up to him, in time to avoid being smashed by multiple projectiles. And as soon as he grabbed the other's elbow Erik came face to face with Shaw, who sprang up as if from nowhere. The bastard looked rather rumpled, his frantic gaze glassed over, but the perpetual spark of malice was still there. Erik's aim was good when he tossed a nearby rod at Shaw, but he was also aware that he needed something else in order to finish that vermin.

Meanwhile, wild wind swirled up, and the temperature dropped to the point that Erik felt stinging cold numbing his face, his next exhale turned into tiny white cloud. He turned his mind back from the sounds of the clash up there and concentrated on keeping Shaw busy. That frigging helmet, with quite noticeable dents, was a real pain. Erik dodged metal spikes he had thrown a moment ago, and wound his hand round not-Charles' waist, pulled it closer and quickly formed a shield to protect them both from the energy blast. Things were not running smoothly up there, he could tell by terrible screams and local thunderstorm. Nothing would justify him if he just leaves Emma and the others to fend for themselves. After everything they have done to help. As well as the entire Valkar fleet, damn it all.

_We need to be closer. _

Really? Because Erik has noticed that any object that gets closer to that woman also gets totally disintegrated. And where was Max? Did she kill him that time along with the remains of Shaw's group?

Privately, Erik thought the old man was not an easy prey — and how pitiful it would be to die after coming all the way here.

It happened that Erik was wrong as, all of the sudden, when exchanging blows with Shaw, an idea blossomed in his head, not his, but he agreed to it immediately and stretched his senses, setting no bounds to his mastery over metal and his and his clone's powers merged and, henceforth, with renewed effort they hit together, the tiniest metal particles splitting the helmet while multiple spikes pierced Shaw's frozen body. Thus died his enemy, the man he hated so much that the feeling used to render him blind with rage and yet Erik failed to experience much satisfaction. After Essex something within him vanished. And Charles' death has taught him once and for all the insignificance of revenge so plainly, so unerringly made him see the immense futility of it.

When Max stumbled over the fallen debris, barely dragging his feet, part of Erik's detached reason has instantly calculated that the old man was due to collapse any second from now. He's got a head wound, which was bleeding profusely, and his arm was visibly broken in several places, blood trickling continuously through horrible deep gashes. Max was leaving a bright bloody trail, but his jaw was clearly set to silently communicate his stubborn resolve.

"You," Erik tried to force his scratchy voice into obedience. "You can stay down here and take cover and — "

"Eisenhardt," a bloody red grin, too perky for such withered face, was his only answer. "I'm dying today. That's the point."

"Let's do it, then."

So they joined the battle, together. Erik wished matters didn't go so perversely and wished it was Charles right now with him. No, Charles shouldn't have been here in any case. Certainly not on the battlefield.

The stream of fire met them high above the ground, and Erik, without wasting much more time rushed right into opening, created by Munroe, noting from the corner of his eye that unconscious form of Drake was falling down, sure to crash into flying metal parts. Erik tried to intercept his fall, but could not be sure whether he succeeded or not, for their mutual advance has taken them really close to the source of tremendous heat and the woman with black pools instead of eyes.

It burned.

And Erik dared say they did their best, but there was no defying destiny.

If afterlife exists, he wants to meet Charles there. He wants to replay everything, to start all over.

That moment he noticed that he was still miraculously alive and Max's body was being fragmented into dust right in front of her and not-Charles was pulling at Erik's arm until… everything stopped. Not-Charles had grabbed the Empress' hand and though its' own limb immediately started disintegrating, Erik felt the other's pure triumph spilling over, so strong that it filled Erik's heart to the brim. The feeling of belonging, mixed with desperate longing and desire to be the one. Forever and again.

The whole world was laid before Erik: he could scarcely dwell on the scenes of the battle for L'har as he was pulled ahead and back, in any imaginable direction, removed from any physical sense and lodged in the place, he has only seen once before in not-Charles' mind. He spent there eternity, in this bizarre realm, but not a millisecond passed in his world. His sharpened feelings registered a touch to his consciousness, it was tinted with gratitude and melancholy and an enticing image displayed in front of his mind's eye has disappeared prematurely.

_In honour of the one that set us free_.

All around Erik rushed back then. Charles' body turning to dust. His head pounding from the impossible strain. That woman, Jean Grey, going limp and all debris rushing down.

This was one of the occasions his body reacted before his conscious mind even took over — Erik caught Jean Grey mid-air, halted the debris and began lowering it gently, slowly levitating himself down.

It was out of his power to say precisely what was helping him to go on, when there was quite a big part of him eager to turn to dust too. Nonetheless, its' voice was growing quieter and quieter. Simultaneously, pounding in his long-suffering head, though more than moderate from the start, grew stronger and stronger. Due to backlash, his body was rapidly going through all stages of pain.

Some indefinite time had passed before his feet touched the ground and Erik's collar was soaking with blood. He understood, readily, that he couldn't possibly hold on longer. Erik reasoned it was fine.

Ages elapsed before he heard someone's cursing and heavy footsteps approaching. At this rate he couldn't even see, multicolored spots started dancing their mad dance right when he tried to focus his gaze at something in particular; his arms nearly gave out and he would have dropped his cargo if not for Logan.

"Hey, I've got her. It's all right."

Soundly enough he thought he should ensure that she was safe. She might have been strangely connected to Charles in his mess of the mind. A possessed telepath. Perhaps.

"Logan," Erik reached out blindly and caught man's forearm in his slacking grip. Nothing more came out and he seriously feared that he'd lost his voice.

Logan called someone, sounding very urgent. His attention swaying, Erik didn't discern a word. Must keep talking, just keep talking and try to remain alert.

"Promise me that you will keep her safe," he found the last reserves of strength and reived from them without thought of pain or exhaustion. "It's not her fault. She must vanish, disappear before someone recognizes her. Do you understand?"

"Eisenhardt, it's your blood loss talking. Wait until I get you to the med bay."

"No, damn you, Logan. You and I have already failed Charles, don't you dare refuse now. It's not her fault," Erik repeated insistently, looked up, but saw nothing, except for the darkness.

"Fine. I promise."

To the accompaniment of Logan's stiff reply everything went blissfully still and quiet.

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.

He couldn't resist anymore and no matter how much he despised the mere concept of dying in such undignified manner there was nothing to do. Plenty of people would say that he richly deserved an end like this — in the back alley of some dingy district. Hazy as his head was, he couldn't but be darkly amused at the simple thought. Degrading helplessness was killing him faster than any other weapon. Ground was rough and uneven where he was lying in an undignified heap, bleeding and unable to move due to some drug in his system. Hybrids won't find him in time in a city as big as this one.

A few pairs of footsteps have already gone by, just around the corner. Loud inebriated voices and then someone quiet, stealthy, like the assassin that had caught him unaware tonight. Unarmed within seconds. Oh, how gladly he would have torn her apart.

The vague sense of cold was spreading through his body.

Metal was deaf to his call.

His time was running out.

His jumbled thoughts were floating slower and slower.

Finally, he knew what death tasted like: it was sour and bitter at the same time. So deep his fear was rooted that he didn't realize, previously, how much he was afraid of dying. Terror and panic has seized him completely, dragging him down, as though purposefully keeping him underwater, so that his airways got blocked, his vision swam as he was sinking in the waiting arms of his agony.

_Hold on, Max, please. _

_Just listen to my voice and keep breathing. _

A stranger?

Numbly, he struggled to listen to that worried voice. Partly because it was so effectively overlapping his fear. Last bits of his muted awareness screamed at him to shield his mind from a telepath — listening was dangerous.

_You're going to be all right._

He pushed his own anxiety away and let the brightness through. He suddenly was shaking all over while his hazy mind cleared and overwhelming pain subsided a bit.

Rather miraculously, he managed to open his eyes a fraction. When he rediscovered his vision, a pale face came into focus first.

_Stay with me just a little more. I've already called medics. _

…Erik turned back to look at the long procession in funeral white, seeing nothing in fact, his restless mind caught in the odd endless loop of replaying one memory over and over these days. Everything came back. Just like he promised it would.

Lately, Erik was regularly coming to this old-fashioned cemetery to think. Not to mourn Charles like everyone else was obviously thinking. No. Well, that last vague image the Empress had granted him didn't let him give up yet, kept coming back in dreams and visions.

Though, truth be told, he did often find himself standing in front of the most recently erected monument, dumbly staring at the names of war heroes carved into black stone pyramid. When his eyes caught familiar name from time to time, he knew he would be carrying the weight of that name till the end of his days. His eyes flickered to the top — Mystique would have been fuming if she had known that she had been promoted as one of the national symbols of the Union. Such a twist of fate it was — to be canonized by people she'd barely tolerated. But she did have soft spot for their cause, for all of them. If not, she would have betrayed them long ago or she could have let him go without any backup. All the same. Next, he recalled Munroe, and then Summers junior. His brother's face, long after he heard about Alex's death looked as if someone has just stabbed him in the back, agonized and disbelieving.

What he didn't understand — why put Logan's name on the monument when he was still officially missing in action. Judging by the message Erik's got last week, they were doing fine. How secretly glad he was now that he decided to give Logan that last order. For certain blood-thirsty Council groups, on hunt for Herlir ex-authorities, billions of victims were apparently not enough. After the new course Charles and he established, has hatred lessened at all? Yes and no.

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In two weeks, Summers finally accepted his invitation to the Scarlet Castle. He strode in Erik's study, slightly pallid and haggard, and when the doors closed after him he still refused to take a seat. One half of Erik was exasperated while the other was simply tired. Today, he managed to send Sean to Academia, at last. Tired actually won, so he approached a plush armchair and regardless of proper decorum sat down, pondering whether to offer Summers something to drink or not, while it was still technically his residence. Maybe, not right now.

"I realize that you're very busy, but I did stress several times that this meeting is important," Erik didn't believe that a man like Summers made anything good of his decision to quit politics. Especially when the wheel of reformation was already in motion and Erik was the one to have pushed it. Even to him it looked, only at times, as if he was running away again.

"You have no idea how difficult it is for a new Council to revive everything," Summers' tone was predictably blank.

Erik groaned internally. In hindsight, he had given up too much. Perhaps, that made no big difference in a way, but he genuinely felt that he owed no more duty and official resigning was just a comparatively meager step to take. Even though, it seemed the most logical to him.

"Emma explained, privately," Summers considered his words for a little while, "what you've been through. She said that it's a miracle you've kept your sanity intact."

"I've been quite lucky with a guide. Charles did his best."

Summers surveyed him attentively for a moment. Since Erik couldn't see his eyes any more, he could only guess what that softened expression meant. Ex-knight was considering him enchanted by the calming illusion. Yes, he believed that Charles was alive and saw no reason why the fact should be concealed. After careful deliberation, he came to conclusion that the image was a gift of his. It must have been. As soon as he is done here, he'll start looking for his friend.

"I want to show you something," Erik said, tamping down on hopeful feeling. He stood up and beckoned Summers closer to a large open window, pushed aside light red curtains flowing in the mid-autumn wind and pointed in the direction of Forbidden Dale. "There lies the Demolisher, a mechanism hidden underneath our ancestral vanity fair, able to make a star explode from within. Will you assist me in destroying it?"

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	11. First Encounter

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Water is everywhere.

He fights his basic surge of panic and thrashes, opens his eyes and solely concentrates on keeping his head above ice-cold water. Vocal cords immediately go into spasm and he is unable to shout for help. Oh my, Charles thinks groggily then, I really don't need my voice for that. But his telepathy is still not quite obeying him, as his control over mental call for help fails. He acutely feels how everything slows down after that and then he literally sinks into oblivion.

He wakes up in warmth and quiet, and actually feels well rested and relaxed. Through transparent walls of his med pod he sees a woman in white lab coat bent over the little cabinet in the corner. Back in the day, he would have scanned her mind in a second, but now it takes Charles about a couple of minutes just to try and read surface thoughts. Moira is a biologist from orbital research station, and she had picked him up yesterday when he was drowning in the lake. What lake? Last thing he remembers he was caught up in the earthquake, dust was clogging his throat and ground threatened to swallow him alive; he fell, Charles dimly recalled how something in his left arm snapped. Then, he saw a ship: a strange black vessel of unfamiliar design — what an enticing sight. He squeezed himself through the gap in the rock, yes, he did, he had scratches from that, and after, he distinctly remembers touching dusty hulk, longing for contact getting harder and harder to resist. And then — nothing. In lieu of getting his memories into order he gets a huge gap, an impossible-to-explain scenario and his heart rate suddenly picks up. No, not another breakdown, he almost begs, not again.

Moira is rushing to him, muttering something under her breath; she is good at doing a lot of things at the same time, he faintly registers, as she checks his vitals, taps in new set of commands on control panel and injects him with something cold and stingy. Watching her move around gets very comforting very quickly, for she seems like she knows what she is doing.

When she assumes that Charles is out of immediate danger, she smiles tightly at him, her brown eyes warm with cautious consideration.

"Can you understand me?" she slowly asks.

"Yes," Charles' rough voice sounds foreign to his own ears, too low and raspy, but he tries. "I'm Charles. Thank you for saving me."

"Can't have your dead body floating in my lake," she wryly laughs and instantly becomes serious. "What were you doing down there, Charles? I constantly monitor this whole planet sector for life signs and there's nothing there but fish and reptiles."

"Are we on Orin?"

"Well, we are," Moira takes a long searching look at his face. "Charles, there is one more question I need to ask: what standard date is the last you remember?"

Charles responds automatically, due to long time spent in space his well-trained inner clock works impeccably, never once failing him.

His telepathy, as muddled as it is now, still catches the tendril of her sensibly masked shock, and Charles, despite being not in his best shape, dares to delve deeper, urged by fear the origins of which he can't explain. Later, overcome by violent shaking, he mentally asks worried Moira to sedate him, incapable of staying awake any more.

As days went by, Charles had plenty of time to exercise his mind coolly and freely on a variety of indistinct questions, especially when Moira brought him her touchpad with a report on his terraforming project: it clearly stated that professor Xavier and his research team have safely left Orin a couple of years ago. His accident was in that report too, mentioned in passing. When Charles compared the coordinates and found out that he reappeared in the same place as lake was only a recent addition to the mountain range, he didn't linger upon this fact too long. Not that he was hard pressed, seeing as next interstellar ship was coming here only in four months. Besides, Moira's work was interesting and captivating, so, more and more, Charles was choosing to forego questions leading him into absurdity department in favor of work. That's why he came to Orin in the first place, after all, — to get back on track.

Charles knows how important these samples are for Moira and takes great care in putting them into containers after cataloguing and scanning for radiation. That is, he's startled when Moira storms into the lab and goes to hug him — a feat extremely unfitting for a woman of her general disposition. Her immense relief and joy spills over and his powers reflect those feelings. After that first time, he avoided actively reading her mind, wary of his clumsiness, but this time, with his mental equilibrium somewhat restored, he gently brushes the surface again.

"It has ended, Charles," Moira sobs into his shoulder and he almost drops the glass tube he is holding, because there was a war, goodness, and he had missed it from the beginning till the end.

"Hush, dear! Don't cry. Come on, that's amazing news," Charles smiles brightly to cover his conflicting emotions, tearing him apart inside out.

"I'm so glad, I decided to switch on transmitter before due date," she pushes away, locking eyes with him. "I know that this is a great waste of generator, but I wanted to find out something about you."

As she speaks, her memory reveals itself, and thus Charles already knows what exactly she discovered and all his blood rushes south.

"Unbelievable…"

"Yes, so there was no time paradox involved. You had died. You came back," Moira talks sense like a good scientist. "You had also made a major breakthrough in dimensional physics. Charles, you had inaugurated a new era in space exploration. I can't wait to get onboard of a ship equipped with D-drive."

"Me too."

It's terrifying.

That's why he doesn't touch mainframe or transmitter. Details he inadvertently glimpsed from Moira's mind, like monuments being unveiled in his honour, holograms of his presentations playing and replaying, his burial site, are more than enough, given that he has dozens of assumptions but no real, actual clue what is going on. In the world he lives there are a lot of wonderful things, sometimes quite tough to explain, but they fit into the picture nonetheless, and his case, however, was utterly beyond him.

That morning, he came down to the lake as usual, moving around motions quickly for it was rather chilly outside, but he didn't like working in inflexible spacesuit and had bundled up instead. Air was incredibly fresh and the sky was clean. As perfect as it could ever be, until an enormous shadow falls upon the valley and Charles briefly considers taking cover, before his rational mind whispers about the futility of his attempt. It would be exceptionally stupid to flee in full view of this ship's scanners, and also potentially dangerous. Thankfully, he has got his mind at his service, his first and last line of defense. When the cruiser lands, rising a cloud of dust and prompting dull rumbling in the rocks, Charles cringes at the damage to virginal ecosystem.

Without further delay, he casts forth his power, and then instantly stops, flooded by trepidation. Just a mere brush against the other's mind forcefully throws him back to that day in the desert, and he feels physically sick. Ultimately, it means that he can't move, and more importantly, can't think.

"Charles, oh lord! Charles!"

Same voice, same face, almost like in his dreams.

Charles takes a step back.

Prompted by that, he stops then, looking Charles up and down hungrily, and takes off his helmet completely. The pinnacle of everything Charles has ever wanted never seemed so close and yet so far, because, even without any artificial barriers between them, he hesitates.

"Please, Charles. Just read my mind and you will see —"

"Lately," he feels so miserably ashamed and also angry that he has to confess like that. "I've been quite out of practice. Why, um, why are you here?" his cheeks flush and he hopes that it isn't as prominent as usual.

"I came for you."

To speak of lost friendships?

Apparently, he heard that one, because his expression soured greatly.

"No, but if you want — we may talk about it. Of course."

"Is that really you?"

Charles lets it slip, not meaning to, but laughter in lieu of answer to his question means that he did touch some nerve.

"Look in and find out."

Well, Charles takes a deep calming breath, carefully focused, and then he just can't stop. He has to know everything; he simply has to go as deep as possible. And what he sees in Max's, Erik's mind is almost as implausible as his resurrection in water.

When Charles opens his eyes, and he doesn't recall ever closing them, he is kneeling on the ground, head awkwardly cradled against Erik's chest, who is also sitting on the ground by his side. Erik sneaks his arm around Charles' back and this is to be expected, now that Charles knows how much Erik longs to touch him and make sure that he is real. He repeats Charles' name over and over, slightly rocking them back and forth, until the word flow that is Charles' name transforms into eerie litany, each sound mysteriously tugging at Charles' aching heart.

We need to have a serious conversation about everything he's just seen, decides Charles.

Maybe, a bit later.

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End file.
